


Vode An

by epsiloneridani



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Brothers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mando'a, longfic, see chapter summaries for trigger warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 80,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23210710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epsiloneridani/pseuds/epsiloneridani
Summary: There are millions of lives on the line, clone and Jedi alike. Every second brings them one step closer to the chip's activation - one step closer to the endgame. The truth is shrouded in secrecy and clouded by doubt. The clock's ticking down.It's a race against time.Fives is gone. Echo finds the courage to ask why.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, CC-1010 | Fox & CT-7567 | Rex, CC-2224 | Cody & Obi-Wan Kenobi, CT-21-0408 | Echo & CT-27-5555 | Fives | ARC-5555, CT-21-0408 | Echo & CT-7567 | Rex, CT-27-5555 | Fives | ARC-5555 & CC-1010 | Fox, CT-27-5555 | Fives | ARC-5555 & CT-6116 | Kix, CT-27-5555 | Fives | ARC-5555 & CT-7567 | Rex, CT-5597 | Jesse & CT-6116 | Kix, CT-6116 | Kix & CT-7567 | Rex, CT-7567 | Rex & Ahsoka Tano
Comments: 884
Kudos: 892





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> No trigger warnings.

He thought he was braver than this.

Echo doesn’t have the courage to ask while they’re still on Anaxes, or in the days and weeks and months that follow. The Bad Batch is in high demand, it seems, and no one bats an eye at them suddenly having a fifth member: they just hand them their missions and send them off.

Much as he’s grateful to be busy (grateful for the distraction), the question still hangs in the back of his mind, a specter of a fear he can’t quite name. He knows Fives is gone. He’s known since he woke up.

“How did it happen?” he asks, turning the words over on his tongue. Practicing. He’s rooming by himself, in a corner the others quickly converted from a utility closet to makeshift quarters. Privacy’s no small thing on a ship this size. He doesn’t know how to thank them.

He doesn’t know a lot of things right now.

Echo takes a shaky breath and keys in the comm. code.

Rex answers almost immediately. He always does. There’s a sharp pang in Echo’s chest. “Echo,” Rex says, and his face breaks into a smile. “Been a while.”

“A month,” Echo says. He’s been with the Bad Batch for three. It feels so much longer.

“You holding up all right?”

“Yeah,” Echo says quickly. Too quickly. Rex’s smile fades. “I just – I have something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Anything.”

“How did it happen?”

Rex goes still. “How did what happen?” he asks gently.

Echo wraps his hand around his cybernetic arm and squeezes until he can breathe again. “Fives,” he says hoarsely. His chest pangs again. “What happened to Fives?”

He can see the ache in Rex’s eyes, even in the pale blue of the holographic projection. “Echo—”

“I need to know.”

“Echo, don’t do this.”

“Please.”

Rex drags a hand across his scalp and blows out a breath. There’re dark circles under his eyes, loss and grief given form. He hesitates, holds for a moment too long, and Echo realizes with a sharp breath that he’s thinking about lying.

“You deserve the truth,” Rex mumbles, more to himself than to Echo. He’s not looking up; he’s staring at his hands. When he does raise his eyes, they’re haunted.

“I can handle it.”

“It happened so fast,” Rex says quietly. “He was – he was trying to tell me something. There was something _wrong_ and he wanted General Skywalker and I to know about it. But he wasn’t right. He was rambling and he wasn’t making sense and then Fox showed up with his Guard and Fives went for my pistol.”

Echo’s heart is in his throat. “They warned him,” Rex says. “Hell, I warned him. Fox had to fire.”

On another clone. On a brother. Echo’s eyes sting. Burn. “He died in my arms,” Rex says. His voice is muted. Guilty. “I couldn’t – he put the General and I in a ray shield. We couldn’t stop him. But he died at peace, Echo. He said he was at peace.”

That’s something. That feels like nothing. Echo nods. His throat is too tight to speak.

“If you need to talk—”

“I know,” Echo croaks, blinking, blinking. There are hot streams on his cheeks. He told himself he wouldn’t cry. “I know. You’d go to the ends of the galaxy for me, Rex. I know that.”

It doesn’t do anything to ease the pain in Rex’s face. “I’m here, brother,” Rex says, and raises his hand. Echo presses his palm against it.

For a moment, it’s like Rex is here with him. For a moment, he doesn’t feel so desperately alone.

“I have to go,” Rex says at last. “But if you need me—”

“I’ll call.”

“I love you, _ner’vod_ ,” Rex says quietly, and then he’s gone.

Echo doesn’t move for a long time. Doesn’t lower his hand. When he finally manages to crawl to his bunk, he doesn’t sleep.

Fives, rambling. Fives, not making sense. That’s not like Fives.

“What did you find?” Echo asks the darkness. “Fives, what did you find?”

\--


	2. Infiltration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kamino has answers.
> 
> The Bad Batch has a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of PTSD

“What was he trying to tell you?”

Rex is in his fatigues. If he had enough hair to be mussed, Echo’s sure it would be a disaster. “Echo, don’t do this,” he says. “I’ve wracked my brain enough times trying to sort it out.”

“I haven’t slept in two days,” Echo says and feels an immediate pang of guilt at the shadow that crosses Rex’s face. _I haven’t slept since you told me_. “It’s not your fault. I was just – thinking. Fives wouldn’t just go off the rails. That wasn’t Fives. You know that.”

“War is a hell of a thing. He was under a lot of stress. Just look at what happened to Tup.”

Tup, who turned on a general. Tup, who’s gone now too. Echo sets his jaw. “I know,” he says. “I read the file about the engagement. I read everything. Tech got it for me. What I don’t know is what Fives found.”

Rex, at least, is kind enough to not point out the access restrictions. Maybe he’s glad he doesn’t have to relive it. It’s not like the Bad Batch hasn’t done worse. “I don’t either.”

“He spoke privately with the Chancellor!” Echo snaps. “And they claim he tried to assassinate him? Fives? Assassinate the _Chancellor?_ ”

“I know,” Rex says tiredly. “I know, Echo.”

“He wouldn’t have.”

“He was out of his head.”

“Then maybe – maybe someone drugged him. Maybe they got to him. Maybe someone manipulated the file and he—”

“Do you hear yourself?” Rex asks. “There’s no evidence of that.”

“Is that what they told you when you went after me?”

Rex takes a deep breath. “I can’t talk about this over an unsecured line,” he almost whispers. “Get Tech to encrypt it.”

“It is.”

“With a standard encryption. Get a _Tech_ encryption,” Rex bites out, and winks away.

Echo’s off like a shot, down the hall, up the ladder, and banging on Tech’s door before he even considers the hour. It hisses open.

Hunter does have enough hair for it to be mussed. Echo’s never seen anyone with a worse bedhead, but then, Skywalker was the only one in their unit with enough hair to manage a bedhead and the Jedi almost never showed up looking like hell.

“Echo,” Hunter says. There’s no frustration in his voice, only kindness. “What do you need?”

“Tech.”

“He’s up in the cockpit,” Hunter says. “Making some modifications to the navigation systems while we wait for our next assignment to come through.”

“Right,” Echo says. “Um. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Hunter cocks his head. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. Yet. I – I need to talk to Tech.”

Hunter nods. Echo doesn’t stick around to answer any more of his questions, darting to the nearest access hatch, hauling himself up into the corridor, and dashing to the cockpit.

He almost runs over Tech. “I need your help,” Echo blurts, and Tech blinks at him twice.

“With what?”

“I need one of your encrypted lines. To Rex. Right now. Please.”

Tech quirks an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with the standard encryption? Or your own encryptions, for that matter?”

“Please,” Echo says. “Tech. It’s about – it’s about my brother. One of my brothers. He found something and I think Rex knows what it is and I need to talk to him. Please.”

Tech scrutinizes him. “Give me a few minutes,” he says, turning back to the console. “And in the meantime, try to remember to breathe. Your heart rate is one hundred and sixty-three beats per minute. A fit adult male has a resting heart rate between sixty and one-hundred beats per minute.”

Echo eases into the copilot’s seat. One minute. Two. Three. It feels like an eternity. “It’s done,” Tech says, when Echo’s been there for seven minutes and four seconds. It shouldn’t have taken that long. Knowing Tech, it didn’t.

Remember to breathe.

“Thank you,” Echo says. “Tech, thank you.”

“It’s just a simple encryption,” he shrugs. His hand lands on Echo’s shoulder, there for a beat and then gone. “I’ll give you your space. If you need anything else, I’ll be down in the engine room. There are some diagnostics I need to run.”

Echo barely waits for the doors to slip shut before he pounds in the comm. code and waits –waits.

Waits.

Rex always answers immediately.

“Please, please, please,” Echo whispers. The light blinks at him – connection loading, connection loading, connection loading.

“Echo.” Oh. Rex was asleep. Echo’s heart is racing too quickly to feel badly about waking him up for the second time.

“It’s encrypted,” Echo blurts. “Tech encrypted it.”

“I see that,” Rex says.

The background is different. Hazy. Cragged. “Where are you?”

“Top of a cliff overlooking the base. Can’t talk down there.”

“You fell asleep on a cliff?”

Rex makes a noncommittal noise and folds his arms across his chest, though it looks more like he’s hugging himself. He shivers. Still in fatigues. No jacket. He must have rushed out of the base after he ended their last connection. “Fives,” Rex says.

“What did he find?”

“A…chip.” Rex’s voice is suddenly hoarse. “It’s an organic chip. The Kaminoans put a chip in our heads that they can switch at any second. Turn us against the Jedi. Against anyone. Make us do whatever they want.”

Echo’s blood runs cold. He presses his palm to his skull without really thinking about it. Plugged in. Pulled apart. _Stop, stop, stop_ and _I won’t tell you_ meant nothing when they were siphoning the information directly from his neural interface.

_I fought it. I did._

But a chip isn’t something that you can fight. “How do you know? I mean, there’s Fives – but how?”

Rex bites his lip and shrugs helplessly. “I got mine removed,” he says. “I had leave after Fives and I know some guys on Coruscant.”

No one very legal. Nothing very safe. “I’m all right,” Rex says, like he knows what Echo’s thinking. Maybe he does. “They weren’t exactly legit but they were sanitary, at least. It was fast.”

“Why haven’t you told anyone?”

“We need more evidence.”

“But we _have it._ ”

“The chip itself is not enough. We need to know who’s behind it,” Rex says. “We have to figure out who’s pulling our strings.”

Echo swallows thickly. “Fives met with the Chancellor,” he whispers. “Fives met with the Chancellor and they accused him of trying to assassinate him.”

“I don’t know how high this goes.” Rex’s eyes are dark. Haunted. “We can’t make a move until we know who the players are.”

“How are we going to figure that out?”

“There has to be evidence on Kamino,” Rex says. “They’re the ones that engineered us. They’re the ones that put the chip in our heads. They have to have records somewhere. Files. Schematics. Something that links them back to whoever wanted that chip made in the first place.”

“How are we going to get to Kamino?”

“We’re not.” Rex smiles at him. “I’d be missed.”

Echo’s mouth slowly curves up too. “But I wouldn’t be.”

“Now you’ve got it.”

* * *

“We have a _what?_ ”

“I know it sounds crazy,” Echo says. Hunter’s staring disbelievingly at him, maybe wondering if he’s finally lost it or maybe just trying to decide if he ever had it in the first place. “I know that, all right? But my brother died for this. He wouldn’t have gone rogue without a good reason.”

“How do you know he didn’t go at the Chancellor when he met with him?” Crosshair asks coolly. “He wasn’t exactly in his right mind when the Captain and the Jedi found him.”

“I knew Fives better than anyone,” Echo bites back. Fives. Fives. He should’ve been there; he was strapped into a Separatist machine instead. Betrayer. Betrayer. “He wouldn’t have just snapped.”

“PTSD is common in soldiers,” Tech says gently. “We’re conditioned to believe we’re invincible, Echo, but the data tell us that that isn’t true. He could have suffered a nervous breakdown.”

“No,” Echo says. His heart is in his throat. “No. He hadn’t lost it. He didn’t have a breakdown. I _know Fives_. If he said he found something – if it was important enough for a Jedi to send him all the way to Coruscant to speak with the Chancellor – then he found something. End of story.”

“We didn’t know Fives,” Hunter says carefully. Echo bristles anyway. Hunter’s voice lowers. It’s not soothing, not like Rex, but it’s close enough. “But we know you.”

“We have a medbay,” Tech says. “We can run our scans there. If any of us has a chip, it’d be a good idea to extract it before we set foot on Kamino.”

“So we’re doing this?” Crosshair asks.

Wrecker shrugs. “Haven’t broken anything in a while,” he grumbles. “I’d love to bust up Kamino.”

“This will be a stealth operation,” Hunter says. Wrecker groans. “I mean it. They built us. They know what to expect – but only if they know why we’re there.”

Crosshair snorts. “We can’t just walk in the front door,” he says.

Hunter’s lips curl into a smile. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, we can.”

* * *

“This is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had, Sarge.”

“Quit whining. You’re not going to be here that long,” Crosshair hisses. Wrecker grumbles and tugs at the restraints around his wrists. The rest of them are armored up, surrounding him like an escort, but it’s only Wrecker who’s clad in fatigues and left to suffer the elements.

At least the canopy they cobbled together might keep him somewhat dry on the way inside.

“‘On-edge,’” Wrecker parrots. “Be more believable if you said it was Crosshair that was this close to goin’ off the edge and needed to go ‘home’ to reset.”

“Come on, Wrecker,” Hunter wheedles. “You always thought busting up the training droids was relaxing. Why would that change?”

Wrecker grumbles something unintelligible. Tech hits the ramp access. “Now remember, we’re just here for some training and teambuilding. Nothing more. Even after we pass the entrance checkpoints, we’ll be monitored. It’s the same Kamino we remember. And after what happened with ARC trooper Fives, they’ll have been certain to modify security accordingly.”

“They won’t know, right?” Echo asks. The others turn to him. He clears his throat. His chest aches. “They won’t know we don’t have our chips anymore.”

“Not unless they run a level five atomic scan on our brains, no,” Tech answers.

Echo nods stiffly. It’s been a hell of a three days, healing up from the short surgery and then sitting around waiting to make sure no one suffered any adverse side-effects from the chip’s absence. He thought he was going to start climbing the walls. He wanted to call Rex. He did call Rex.

Rex didn’t answer. Busy. Fighting the war. Echo hopes he makes it through. The closeness with which he sticks to Skywalker’s side is a reassurance, at least: if Rex is with a Jedi, he’s more likely to make it back alive.

He needs to make sure they all make it back alive.

Echo straightens his shoulders.

The ramps stutters down and they march out into the rain. It’s a short trip across the platform and through the door, but even with the shield they rigged up for Wrecker, he still gets soaked. Kamino’s storms are the same, too.

“Aw, come on,” Wrecker growls.

“We’ll get you new fatigues once they assign us quarters,” Hunter says. “They received the notification we were on our way. It shouldn’t be long before you’re armored up and breaking droids.”

Wrecker says something back but Echo barely hears him. The last time he was on Kamino, he had Fives by his side and a fleet of Separatists descending from the skies.

“Welcome to Kamino. I trust your ventures have been productive.”

Every muscle in Echo’s body tenses; he has to force himself not to freeze. “They were, Nala Se,” Hunter says calmly. “But Wrecker’s a little tired of being cooped up on the ship waiting for an assignment.”

Nala Se’s eyes are cutting. Cold. She sweeps her gaze across the group and stops on Echo. “Your newest member, I presume,” she says, and Echo’s skin crawls under his armor. “CT-1409, designation ARC. It’s a shame about CT-5555, designation ARC. He showed such promise before his termination. That makes you the last surviving member of Domino Squad.”

Hunter stiffens, imperceptible to the Kaminoan but as plain as the sky above them to another clone. Echo sets his jaw. Nala Se looks him up and down, calculating. “The scans you underwent upon entry indicate that you have received significant cybernetic additions. I’m certain a record of your new physiology would be valuable to future prosthetic applications.”

“We’re just here to sharpen some skills,” Hunter intercedes smoothly. “Science projects will have to wait until after the war.”

Nala Se scoffs. Hunter doesn’t waver. “As you wish,” she says at last.

When she turns her back to lead them down the corridor, Echo finds he can breathe again. Tech’s hand wraps around his wrist and squeezes, once. Echo curls his hand into a fist.

_Hold it together. For Fives._

Their quarters are just a condensed version of a barracks: four bunks and a ‘fresher. It’s where the commandos used to room before they shipped to Geonosis, before most of them were massacred in the catacombs, deployed too early and withdrawn too late. Echo’s chest aches.

“If there’s anything you require for your training, you are aware of where to find me,” Nala Se says, and then is finally, finally gone.

“Echo,” Hunter says, and some of the haze clears from his vision. “You ready?”

“The faster we get this done, the better,” Tech says. “The Kaminoans are vigilant. Whatever they have to hide will be well concealed. The sooner we start looking, the better chance we have to find it before we arouse any suspicion.”

“Wrecker, Crosshair, and I will stay armored up and head to the range,” Hunter says. “We’ll draw less attention if some of us are where we said we’d be. Echo, Tech, find a way into the archives and get what we need. As soon as you have it, send the signal. We’ll wrap up, fake a summons, and get out of here.”

“On it, Sergeant,” Tech says. Echo follows him into the corridor.

“Hold on,” Tech says, and presses a small circle to the back of Echo’s neck. It hums, flickers, and then goes still.

“What’s that?”

“Hologram.” Tech taps his own device, once, and his armor flickers like a mirage: basic shiny kit. “On the off chance we do get caught, we’ll look like regular troopers. It’ll be much easier to blend in.”

“We can’t get caught.”

“We won’t,” Tech says. There’s a soft note of soothing in his voice. “This is just a precaution.”

Kamino is a maze to most outsiders, balconies and platforms and cool white hallways that look the same no matter which way you turn, but every clone spent every waking moment of their formative years in these facilities. It’s as familiar to them as the backs of their hands.

The archives have always been off-limits, sequestered in a central hub around which the remainder of the facility arcs. It’s barricaded by two sets of security doors, both reinforced by a handprint scanner and retinal recognition – and that’s all before you reach the vault. The files themselves have their own encryption.

Echo knows firsthand. Hevy tried to get at it, more than once.

_What can I say, Echo? When you run a highly lucrative intergalactic cloning business, I guess you keep your secrets close to your chest. Can’t have everyone making copies of us, right?_

His chest hurts. Hevy.

“Are you sure we can get inside?” Echo asks over the private comm. “That’s a lot of security.”

“I scanned Nala Se’s irises and fingerprints when she met us at the door,” Tech says calmly. “The Kaminoans aren’t the only ones with upgrades the rest of the galaxy doesn’t have access to. I’ll transmit the profile to you. That’ll fool the system into thinking we’re Nala Se and set the cameras to a closed loop until we’re long gone.”

The corridor is deserted. None of the cadets have a reason to come down this far and the Kaminoans only venture here when they have a client for which they need to retrieve some highly redacted files or when they need to make an edit to a genetic profile.

Neither of those things happens very often.

He hopes.

Tech waves him forward. It’s one motion to interface with the wall and a few mental machinations to relay Tech’s profile to the system.

The door slides open.

The second is just as simple. It makes Echo’s stomach turn. “This is too easy,” he says. “It shouldn’t be so easy. When we were cadets, Hevy tried to get in here. He failed. A lot.”

“Hevy didn’t have a supercomputer to help his brain bypass the security measures,” Tech says calmly, easing into the console’s chair. “Of course it’s easier now, Echo.”

It makes sense. It should make him feel better. It doesn’t. Echo bounces his leg. Tech’s fingers are flying across the controls. “How long will this take?”

“As long as it takes. Right now, they have no idea we’re in here,” Tech says. He’s transfixed by the screen. Information whips by, a string of letters and numbers. “The Kaminoans have been in business for several centuries. There’s a lot of data.”

“We don’t need centuries of data. We just need information on the GAR.”

“I’m going through it as fast as I can. Plug into the other console. The work will be faster if both of us are searching.”

Right. Like they discussed en route to Kamino. Echo shakes off the ghosts and interfaces with the console.

It’s like running face first into a wall. Echo staggers and braces himself on the wall. Filter it, make it manageable, then start to fly. He’s done it before. He can do it again.

Remember to breathe.

The data comes in streams. He lets it flow by, whipping through file after file and filtering for keywords: client names and concentrations and commands and special commissions for unusual modifications. Chips.

Fives.

The files for the GAR order materialize on the screen. Beside him, Echo feels more than sees Tech stop typing.

“You’ve got it. That’s it. That’s what we need.”

“They’re all encrypted,” Echo says. He squeezes his eyes shut. “They’re encrypted but I think – I think I can decrypt them. Transfer them.”

“The drive’s plugged in and ready to go.”

“No one’s on to us?”

“Not yet. Work fast.”

He shifts through a thousand ciphers in the same of several seconds. None of them click. Next set. Next set. Next set. Repeat.

Hit.

Success.

“Transferring—”

His ears are ringing. It takes him a second to register the alarms. “Finish the transfer,” Tech snaps, scurrying for the door. There’s adrenaline pounding in his ears, acid burning in his throat; Echo pushes past it. Seventy percent. Eighty. Ninety.

Done.

“We might be too late,” Tech says grimly, peering out the cracked door. The doors didn’t slide shut to seal them in; Tech must have built a failsafe into his program. “I don’t know how close security might be. We didn’t have the opportunity to surveil their response times.”

He’s not worried about the other clones. He’s worried about the Kaminoans that’ll be there with them. Echo swallows thickly. “I don’t know what I tripped,” he says hoarsely. “I was careful. I—”

“It doesn’t matter right now.”

“We have to go.”

“Not if we’re going to trip something much more lethal,” Tech says. His eyes are flitting back and forth behind his goggles. “I’m not reading any other traps, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”

“So we run for it.”

“If we must.”

They dart through the security doors. There are pounding footsteps coming toward them, a legion of clones ready to do their duty and down the intruders. Echo’s chest tightens. If they’re caught it’ll give the Kaminoans a reason to commandeer him and then they’ll cut him to pieces.

Don’t get caught.

Echo whips around the corner with Tech at his heels. The clones are closer now, an ominous thrum that rumbles the floor beneath them. They won’t make it past them. There’s only one way in and out of here.

Don’t get caught.

Echo looks around desperately. No vents. No hatches. Just cool white. Just that damned cool white.

“We could retreat to the vault,” Tech says. “Barricade ourselves in until the others find a way to extract us.”

“They’d never make it.” Should have been more careful. Should have looked more closely. Too late now. Too close now – louder and louder. “There are too many of them.”

“You can’t get caught,” Tech says urgently. “We have to find a way to get you out of here.”

“I know that. I know—”

“Boys. Can I help you with something?”

Echo and Tech whirl at the same instant. The voice isn’t familiar, not at first, but when his eyes land on its source, Echo recognizes him immediately.

Kal Skirata.

“This area’s restricted,” Kal says, though there’s something in his eyes Echo can’t quite place, like they’re sharing some kind of secret only one of them knows. Tech looks between them, bewildered.

Anything is better than Kaminoan custody.

“Yes,” Echo says at last. The boots are almost on them now, a few paces away from bursting into the corridor. “We got…lost.”

“You’ll need a better excuse than that for them, son.”

The squad of troopers rounds the corner, weapons drawn and raised. “Take it easy,” Skirata says, shifting in front of Echo and Tech and raising his hands placatingly. “Put those away. I needed to talk to them away from their unit. Public discipline is bad for morale.”

“You still train troopers, sir?” The clone at the front is hesitant. Still a cadet, then. “I thought you were stationed on Coruscant now.”

“I agreed to come back for a bit,” Skirata says. There’s a paternal note to his voice. “Put the blaster down, son.”  
“But the alarms—”

“Jaing is testing the security systems. He must have tripped one.”

The trooper lowers his blaster. The others follow his lead. Echo doesn’t move. It still hurts to breathe. There’s a Kaminoan behind the trooper squad, narrowing his eyes. Skirata meets them squarely.

“You wanted the best of the best testing your system,” Kal says. “You’ve got it.”

“He tripped the alarm,” the Kaminoan says coolly.

“Maybe some of your system isn’t as out-of-date as you thought.”

“Maybe he’s not as good as you thought.”

Kal scoffs. The pair stares at one another for a long beat. It’s the Kaminoan who breaks the eye contact and spins on his heel, fluttering robes and a sharp scowl. The troopers wait a moment, shift uneasily, and follow after him.

Skirata doesn’t turn to Echo and Tech until the corridor’s been clear for at least two minutes. He sizes them up for a moment that feels like an eternity. Echo wants to slip by, walk away like nothing happened.

But they wouldn’t have made it if he hadn’t intervened.

“I don’t know what you were doing in there,” Kal says at last. “But don’t try it again.”

“Yes, sir,” Echo snaps off with Tech. Skirata steps aside to let them by.

Walking is the most difficult thing Echo’s done all day: stride in time, calm and collected, back to the barracks. Deactivate the disguise. Slip inside.

Tech pulls off his helmet at almost the same time as Echo. He’s breathing just as hard, but not from relief.

“What is it?” Echo asks breathlessly.

“Damned Null ARCs,” Tech hisses. “You didn’t trip any wire. Jaing did. Remotely.”

The Null ARCs. The ARC prototypes. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Disobedient. Slated for execution. Saved by one of the _cuy’val dar_ – the Mandalorian Skirata. Every clone knows the story. Every clone knows their names.

“What do you mean, Jaing did?” Echo asks. “Skirata said he was testing the system.”

Tech coughs a laugh. “The Null ARCs would never test the system for the Kaminoans, but either the Kaminoans don’t know that or they don’t care. I guarantee you, Echo, Skirata and Jaing are here with their own agenda. And that agenda could have gotten us killed.”

“He helped us out of there,” Echo says tiredly. “That’s all I care about.”

Tech stares at him for a long beat. “I’ll send the others the signal,” he says, and turns away.

It’s still storming when they lift off again. Echo clutches the drive and reminds himself to breathe. Breathe.

Just breathe.

\--


	3. A tangled web

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Echo digs deeper into the tangled web.
> 
> Something is very wrong with Commander Fox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: character causing themselves pain to counteract faulty technology, dissociation-like symptoms and discussion of them

Just breathe.

Echo slips the drive into the central computer. The others are supposed to be asleep but he sat down and immediately heard Wrecker clattering around on the deck below and then Crosshair hissing at him to keep it down. They’re not sleeping – they’re lurking, making themselves keep busy with some other task so they don’t hover or ask him about the data he and Tech downloaded.

He’s grateful for the space – for however long it lasts.

Echo takes a measured breath, two, and then slots the socket to interface with the system.

There’s a lot of data; by the file names, most of it looks to be logistical notes about genetic sequencing and tamping down Fett’s aggression and independence to create the model soldier. Echo snorts.

They got that wrong the first time around.

Echo flips back to the oldest file in the sequence. Some Jedi master named Sifo-Dyas commissioned their creation; in his preliminary dealings, he asked for the control chip’s implantation ‘to safeguard against treachery and ensure complete loyalty.’

But why would a _Jedi master_ create a contingency that could be used against other _Jedi?_

It doesn’t make sense.

Echo whips through the rest of the files. Sifo-Dyas made several trips to Kamino, asking for various modifications to the program or demanding an update on the army’s progress, but the reports citing his name abruptly stop before the cloning process even begins. Echo furrows his brow. Maybe he died.

But there’s another report from less than a month later about the same project. The Kaminoans wouldn’t have done that without the proper funding or a client with which to consult.

He remembers a late night, sitting with Rex and Fives and Cody and staring out across a barren desert. _They didn’t know_ , Cody told them. _The Jedi. They didn’t know about us until almost Geonosis. Kenobi ended up on Kamino and they told him one of their own had us built without their Council’s approval._

So Sifo-Dyas acted alone. The rest of the Jedi didn’t know. Could it have been a second rogue Jedi, someone Sifo-Dyas confided in and asked to take over in the event of his demise? Or was it a third party that saw their chance and moved to take it? Someone with a grudge against the Jedi? Someone who wanted a way to wipe them out with their own army?

Who in the hell would be capable of that?

He loses track of time, going through the files. Whoever took it over is only ever named as _GAR Client_ ; there’s no identifying information, just a contact number Echo knows at a glance will no longer be in use.

Dead end. All of this data, all of that effort – and it’s a dead end.

Echo drives his palm into the bridge of his nose until his eyes stop stinging.

He’s reached the end of the relevant information, but he still has one more file to go through. One more file he pulled without telling Tech.

Fives.

Echo’s hand is shaking. His heart churns in his chest.

A thought, and he’s in.

* * *

“What did you find?”

The screen was glowing a cool blue the last time he raised his head. Echo blinks against the darkness. “Nothing,” he says hoarsely. His eyes ache. He’s painfully aware of the tear streaks scarred into his face. “There was nothing. It was a dead end. They never name the client.”

Hunter eases into the chair next to him, hunched forward with his hands folded in his lap. He stares straight at the console. “I know,” he says. “Tech went through that data after you passed out.”

That’s a kind way to put ‘cried until you were too exhausted to stay awake.’ “Oh.”

“I meant, what did you find out about Fives?”

The lump is back in his throat, suffocating him. Echo swallows thickly. “Nothing I didn’t already know,” he says, and curls his hand into a fist and drives his fingernails into his palm. “Just what Rex told me.”

“It’s different reading it firsthand.”

Echo scoffs. It sounds more like a choked sob. He blinks, faster, faster. “They were going to euthanize him,” he bursts out, and his voice cracks. Should have been there. Should have been at his side. Should have stood with him, watched his back, kept him safe. _Fives_.

Hunter’s face is grim. “Damned Kaminoans.”

Echo coughs something he hopes sounds more like a laugh. “There was nothing in there either,” he says. Just their notes on Tup and Fives. Just ideas about how to prevent anyone else from ever realizing the chip existed again. Ways to manipulate them. Keep them in line. It makes his blood boil.

 _Look at what they did to Fives_.

“Nala Se drugged him,” Echo whispers. It was one line: just a statement at the end of the file, like sending him to hell was an afterthought. “She drugged him after he had surgery so he’d be incoherent. So he’d look _crazy_. So no one would listen to him.”

“I’m sorry.”

Echo slams his fist into the console. “I have to find who did this,” he grits out. The tears burn their way down his cheeks. “I have to find who’s behind this. Who’s behind all of this.”

“We’ll try our best.”

“ _No!_ ” Echo barks. “No. I have to do more than try.”

Hunter’s quiet for a moment. “We’ll do whatever we can,” he says at last.

“I should have been there.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I should have been there,” Echo repeats hoarsely. “He was always there.”

Hunter’s hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes. “We’ll do whatever we can to save everyone we can,” he says. A shadow of a smile plays at his lips. “Reg or not. Deal?”

“Deal,” Echo says.

It feels hollow. Fives died for this – died trying to save all of their brothers. It can’t be just enough. That’s not nearly enough. It has to be everyone. Not one clone gets that damned chip activated. Not one clone gets any more of their agency stripped away.

 _Deal_ , Echo says, but it’s not with Hunter.

It’s with Fives.

Echo spends the rest of the day in his quarters, combing through the data. The client is never named. They can’t trace them that way.

The Kaminoans didn’t manufacture the chip themselves. They mass-produced it through a third party…that was promptly swallowed up by the Techno Union. Tech’s probably already made note of and written off this information as another dead end. They can crack that Union vault just the same as they cracked the Kamino one and it won’t bring them any closer to unmasking the shadow behind the scenes.

Echo eases back on his bunk and presses his eyes closed so he can’t stare at the empty ceiling above him. Rubs at the bridge of his nose. His head aches. He should sleep.

But darkness feels too much like a cold void. Feels too much like stasis, that lucid never-ending nightmare where they tore him apart and he pulled himself back together again. They took and took and took, and for a while, he fought them and failed and fought some more. Thought of Rex and Fives and Jesse and Kix and picked himself up and went down swinging.

 _You can’t beat me_.

But they didn’t have to beat him. They could just take what they wanted. And soon he realized – so could he.

Echo stopped fighting and started infiltrating. The conduit went both ways. Why wouldn’t it? They never anticipated his leaving and he wasn’t dangerous while he was in cold storage. He had access to every byte of data that ran through those servers, any project the Techno Union ever communicated about having been commissioned for or completed.

Plenty of those requests came from the Republic. Not as many as came from the Separatists, but enough that he felt his heart drop every time he encountered one in the data stream. It made logical sense – the Republic needed third-party manufacturers just as badly as their opponents, and the Techno Union was more than happy to feed both sides of the conflict for their own profit.

He knew that. It still stung, though, that the Republic had consistent dealings with the same organization that held him for torture and experimentation for so long.

Echo shoots upright.

Plenty of those requests came from the Republic, most of them stamped with the Chancellor’s signature and authorized under his emergency powers. But, catching up on what had happened in the war while he was locked away, he knows the GAR never saw any of the heavy artillery Palpatine authorized, or the walkers, or any of the new fighter craft.

The Chancellor accused Fives of trying to assassinate him. Nala Se documented drugging Fives. Why drug Fives if there’s nothing to hide? Why lie if you just want him brought in alive? If the chip is just meant to suppress Fett’s aggression and serve as a failsafe for rogue Jedi, then why outsource it? Why go to all this trouble to keep its programming a secret?

Where did all of the equipment go? Why hasn’t the GAR seen any of the upgrades it could so desperately use? Why did the Chancellor authorize their construction if he never intended to put them on the battlefield?

_We don’t know how high this goes._

Echo’s blood runs cold.

“I think I do, Rex,” he whispers. “I think I do.”

* * *

_Coruscant_

_19 BBY_

_One month before Echo’s extraction_

At first, he thinks it was just a nightmare.

Fox wakes up in his bunk the same as always. Hygiene. Gear up. Get to work. It’s rote by now, a routine he’s executed every day since they withdrew from Geonosis and he was assigned to the Coruscant guard.

None of it would be out of the ordinary except that, try as he might, he can’t break it.

It’s like he’s a passenger in his own body, free to spectate but helpless to interact or interfere. He walks but he’s not consciously moving his legs; he’s being moved. He speaks, but he’s not opening his mouth; it’s being opened for him. The words are his but he’s not saying them. It’s his voice. It’s him.

But it’s not.

Fox goes about his day, tracks a target and brings them in, and then retires to his quarters again. His hands pull the covers up. His head hits the pillow. He feels it. He feels everything.

When he sleeps, he dreams of a void.

When he wakes, his heart is pounding. Fox shoots upright and whips the blanket off. His hands are shaking, but he can move them. His legs, too. He almost folds forward on himself in his relief.

Just a dream.

His comm. buzzes; he scrambles for it. “Fox,” he croaks, and clears his throat. “What is it?”

Another fugitive. Another Senate committee for which they need security. He assigns the appropriate squads and sends them to work. His comm. buzzes, his unit’s report for the previous day.

When they apprehended the bounty hunter.

When he couldn’t move his own body.

Fox’s mouth goes dry.

“Sir! We have shots fired in the Senate building!”

He doesn’t have time to think about it for the next day, or week. Exactly nine days from the first incident, he wakes up – and he’s a prisoner again. Bile wells in his throat, but he can’t do anything about it. It burns. He wants to scream. He can’t make his mouth move.

Just make it through the day. It’s just twenty-four hours. Make it through the day. Make it through the day. Make it through the day.

Make it through.

Make it through.

He wakes screaming. His shirt is sticking to his back and Fox realizes with a shuddery breath that he’s plastered in sweat. His hands are shaking violently. He can’t make them still. He can barely remember to breathe.

At least he can choose to breathe.

“What’s happening to me?” he asks the medic, a raspy plea. The infirmary is a cool blue he wants to find soothing. He’s only in a hospital gown; it’s not cold. He’s still shivering. Can’t move. Can’t move. Can’t move. He flexes his fingers just to prove that he can.

His medic hesitates.

“Exon.”

“I can’t find anything wrong with you, sir. Your brain scans all turned up normal.”

“I told you—”

Exon hesitates. “It could be psychological. You might be dissociating.”

“I didn’t dissociate.”

“You’re displaying all of the symptoms.”

“I’m telling you,” Fox growls. “I didn’t dissociate.”

“Memory loss. Feeling disconnected—

“Exon,” Fox snaps. “Forget it.”

“We should evaluate you further, sir.”

“I said forget it. I’m fine.”

“I want to help.” Exon’s eyes are dark, wide: superior officer or not, he’s still one of his brothers. “Please. Tell me how I can help.”

Fox doesn’t have an answer for him.

When he gets back to his quarters, he locks the door. Slides the dresser holding his fatigues in front of it. Seals his pistols in his locker with his vibroblades and shatter gun.

Then Fox sits on the edge of the bed, folds his hands in his lap – and waits.

Twelve hours later, he feels it – a stiffness creeping up his spine and into his brain stem. There’s a lump in his throat. He swallows past it, pressing his eyes closed and focusing on one breath, two – another and another, again and again. Open your hand. Close it. Open your hand. Close it. Repeat. Remember your training. Repeat.

Don’t freeze.

His breath stutters. Fox chokes. There’s an icy chill, and suddenly, he can’t move.

His palms are still tingling from where he drove his fingernails into them. He gets up, gets dressed moves his dresser, and leaves.

When he wakes up, he doesn’t move. He lies there and stares at the ceiling with red-rimmed eyes. His comm. buzzes.

Exon.

 _I want to try a level five atomic scan. It might pick up something the other scans missed_. 

Fox doesn’t have time to go to the medbay. There’s a bomb threat at the Senate. By the time he finally makes it to Exon, it’s been well over a week.

“I need that scan, Ex-”

It’s not Exon, it’s some _aruetii_ medic in a white lab coat. Fox stops cold in the door. “Where is Exon?” he asks coolly.

The man’s tall, skinny, dark haired. Friendly face. Fox hates friendly faces on civilians: their smiles are always closely followed by a condescending comment that assumes clones don’t have the first clue.

“Hi! Doctor Ryl,” he says, fidgeting with his glasses. He holds out a hand. Fox stares disdainfully at it until the _shabuir_ gets the idea and drops it.

“Where is Exon?” Fox repeats coldly.

“He was reassigned. I’m the new – where are you going?”

What the hell is a civilian medic doing on a military base?

Fox’s head is screaming. He tugs his helmet on and heads to check up on the squads in the Senate and on the landing platforms. There’s an important diplomatic envoy arriving today. He can’t afford to curl up in his bunk and drive his palms into his eyes until the pounding in his skull fades away.

Exon, his files tell him, has been transferred halfway across the galaxy to a medical envoy that follows the fleet collecting the wounded. Fox drops his head into his hands and groans.

Damn it.

The headache is still there in the morning, a throbbing pulse that he has to blink to see past.

Halfway through the day, midway through the files piled up on his comm., he feels it: the creeping stiffness.

Not again. Please, not again.

“No,” Fox snarls, and clutches his head between his hands and drive his fingers into his temples. It multiplies the headache tenfold, but the stiffness fades away. He holds on for a long as he can stand to.

When he lets go, his head is screaming.

The stiffness doesn’t come back.

It’s pain, then.

The second he’s safely back in his quarters, Fox tears apart his gauntlet. It’s not that difficult to wire in a simple electroshock device. He takes one careful breath, two – and squeezes.

It feels like a line of fire is ripping up the nerves in his arm. Fox’s eyes water.

“ _Osik_ ,” he wheezes.

He takes the voltage down.

At first it’s only once every couple weeks. Then it’s once every couple of days. Then he has to increase the power of the shock, huddled over his gauntlet in a Senate supply closet while the sick stiffness winds its way up his arms, creeping ever-so slowly toward his fingers, and his eyes are blurred, wet, and he’s begging _please, please_.

He’s careful to keep the shock small enough and short enough to avoid any lasting damage, but if he has to increase the frequency, he’ll have to decrease the power. And then it won’t work at all. And then he’ll be locked in his own body with a murderous headache and no way to treat it – and maybe no way back out.

Maybe one day he doesn’t wake up at all.

Most nights, Fox doesn’t sleep. His helmet stays on almost all of the time. His stim supply is running dangerously low. One day blurs into the next blurs into the next. Can’t ask the new medic for help. Can’t trust him – he shouldn’t even be here.

It’ll look suspicious if he goes to another base looking for care.

Fox chuffs a hopeless laugh over some late-night caf. When did he start worrying about what looked suspicious?

“We’re tracking an assassination attempt on the Chancellor. Clone. ARC trooper CT-5555. Fives.”

It hits Fox like a brick of durasteel. Fives is one of Rex’s men. One of the 501st. One of their finest.

“No one fires except me,” he tells his troopers on the way to the warehouse. They have orders to use lethal force, but he switches his blaster to stun. It’ll deliver a hell of a hit to whatever it blasts and knock them to the ground, but it won’t kill them.

It’s what he sets his pistols to every night, in case he falls asleep. In case one day he wakes up and gets to it, in case he isn’t lucid and turns it to his own temple.

His head is pounding. Pounding. Pounding Somehow, it feels worse than it has before. Fox curls his hand into a fist but doesn’t hit the shock trigger. Not yet. No stiffness. Not yet.

The gunship lands. They charge out. He can barely remember to make his legs move. His spine aches. He can feel the panic welling up in the pit of his stomach, that old, familiar cold. He glances at his rifle in the space between steps. It’s set to kill.

He switches it back.

Rex and Skywalker are contained in a ray shield. Fox’s head is screaming – all white static. _Fire, fire, fire, fire, fire, eliminate the traitor, fire—_

Not on Fives. Not on Fives. Not on another brother. Not on Fives.

Not on Fives.

“Don’t do it, trooper!” Fox barks. “Don’t do it!”

His thumb passes over the setting. Kill. He barely has time to switch it back.

Fives lunges for Rex’s pistol. Fox snaps off a shot.

Fives falls.

“ _Fives!”_ Rex cries. “Fives, no, Fives—”

“Get this ray shield down!” Skywalker snarls.

Fives is in Rex’s arms, heaving for breath, and Fox stops in his tracks. Checks his rifle.

It’s set to stun.

Fives goes limp.

It’s not enough to kill him. It wasn’t enough to kill him. He didn’t kill him.

“I’ve got him, Rex,” Fox says a long beat later. His heart is in his throat. Every second counts. It’s not enough to kill him. It couldn’t have been enough to kill him. “I’ve got him.”

Rex lets go of Fives numbly. Skywalker’s hand lands on his Captain’s shoulder. Rex leaves it there.

Fox hoists Fives and hauls him to the gunship bay, slapping the door controls on his way in. The others are still milling about in the warehouse, checking the scene and recording data for the report they’ll have to file later.

Fox rips through the emergency supplies crate. Bandages. Bacta patches.

Adrenaline.

He jabs it into Fives’ neck, searching for the release on the chestplate and popping the seal. He flings the armor away and slams down – once, twice, again, again.

“Come on, Fives,” Fox growls. “ _Come on_.”

It wasn’t enough to kill him. It just delivers a shock. It wasn’t enough to kill him.

_Fire, fire._

Not on another brother. Not on Fives.

Set to kill. Switch it back. Fire, fire.

Not on Fives.

“Please,” Fox whispers. His head is going to explode. There are tears in his eyes. “ _Please_ , Fives—”

Fives jolts alive with a rattling wheeze that sounds more like a strangled scream. His eyes are wild. “Rex,” he croaks, and his voice is so strangled and small. Scared. Fox seizes both his shoulders and makes him meet his gaze.

“No,” Fox says. He wants to collapse for the relief. “No. Not Rex. Just breathe.”

“Rex,” Fives coughs, and sucks in a long and painful breath. “I have – I have to tell Rex about the chip, I have to—”

His mind is going a mile a minute. Chip. “What chip?” Fox asks urgently. He rips off his helmet and throws it aside. “Fives, what chip?”

Fives is staring at him with open-mouthed horror. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

He doesn’t look in the mirror anymore. Fox doesn’t answer him. Fire, fire. No. Not Fives. They’ll fire on Fives if they find him. “You’re dead,” Fox blurts. “They can’t know you’re alive.”

“What the _hell_ is wrong with you?” Fives demands. He’s not strong enough to yell, not yet, but he will be in a few moments and there’s no way Rex’ll miss that.

“You tried to assassinate the Chancellor,” Fox says. “So – so they tell me.”

“You look like you crawled out of a morgue.”

“Can you focus?” Fox snaps. “What chip, Fives?”

“The one they put in our heads. The one they can use to control us,” Fives hisses. “Make us do whatever they want. I think they’re planning to use it against the Jedi.”

Control them. Make them do whatever they want. “A chip,” Fox repeats desperately. “A chip that takes over.”

“Rex,” Fives says again. “I have to tell Rex.”

“Rex isn’t here.”

“Please.”

“He can’t know,” Fox repeats stupidly. “No one can. If this is a conspiracy, if someone’s out to get you – us – all of us—”

“Wait,” Fives says slowly. “Wait. You actually believe me?”

“There’s something wrong with me,” Fox blurts.

Fives looks him up and down. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I can see that.”

Fox doesn’t respond, just stands and raps on the wall to tell the pilot to take off. No one wants to ride with a corpse – especially when that corpse is one of their own.

Especially when they made that corpse.

Fox chuffs a laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Fives asks dryly.

“You just died, but it’s me that looks more like a corpse.”

Fives doesn’t laugh.

\--


	4. Foresight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fox and Fives hunt the truth.
> 
> Fives doesn't always think his plans through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: discussion of dissociation-like symptoms that are not related to a dissociation disorder, discussion of a character causing themselves pain to counteract these symptoms

“This isn’t a Republic safehouse.”

Fox keys in the door’s code and ushers Fives inside. The place is tidy, clean, but the single couch in the place is covered by a dustcloth. A tiny kitchenette stands unused in the corner; there’s a door to a ‘fresher, but no bedroom.

“Right now,” Fox says, “it’s one of mine.  
Fives snorts and looks around. “You own this place?” he asks. _We don’t get paid_.

“No. A dead senator does.”

“A _senator_ wouldn’t live someplace like this.”

“He wasn’t living here,” Fox says. “He was hiding. Past caught up to him quicker than he thought it would. We didn’t get to him in time. The safehouse is in a state of limbo while they figure out who the property deed gets transferred to so, as far as I’m concerned, it’s fair game.”

Fives stares at him. “I’m not just going to hide,” he says, folding his arms across his chest.

“I don’t expect you to,” Fox says. His head is pounding. Now that the adrenaline has subsided, now that Fives is breathing and upright, heaviness hangs in every one of his limbs. He can barely lift his arms to remove his helmet. If he sits down, he’ll pass out.

_You can’t go to sleep._

Fox fumbles with the pouch on his belt. It flips open. He stops cold.

Empty. Out of stims.

“What _are_ you doing?” Fives asks.

“Tell me about the chip,” Fox says.

“Only after you tell me why you look like a sarlacc chewed you up and spat you out.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Fox says desperately. “The chip – you said the chip – controls you. Takes over. Makes you do whatever they want.”

“Yeah.” Fives cocks his head at him. “Tup’s went haywire. He shot General Tiplar. Been feeling like slagging any Jedi lately, Commander?”

“No. That’s not it.”

“Then what’s your problem?”

“I wake up and I can’t move,” Fox explodes. “It’s me but it’s not _me_. I can’t control my own body. All I can do is watch.”

Fives frowns. Hesitates.

Fox rips off his glove and shoves the gauntlet at him. “The only thing that counteracts it is pain,” he snaps. “It shorts it out. Whatever signal it’s sending – this shorts it out.”

Fives coughs a disbelieving laugh. “You’ve been electrocuting yourself?”

“It’s a low-grade pulse. Not harmful in the long-term,” Fox says, faster, faster. “It stops the stiffness. I don’t go numb. I can – I can keep doing my job. Can’t really sleep. But my job – I can keep doing my job.”

Keep his men safe. Keep them out of harm’s way.

“What was your long-term plan, exactly?” Fives asks.

“Don’t have one.”

Fives’ eyebrows shoot up. It’s quiet for a long moment. “All right,” he says slowly. “All right. We have to get that chip out of you.”

“They transferred Exon.” Fives stares at him. Fox rushes ahead. “Exon. He was my medic. For my men at the barracks. I asked him for help – the first time it happened. He sent me a comm. later and said that he wanted to try a deeper brain scan. Level five. Atomic. I didn’t go. There was a bomb threat. By the time I got there, Exon was gone.”

“I don’t think it’s just me that’s gonna need to lie low,” Fives says.

“I can’t. The Guard needs me.”

“Look, either you have a faulty chip and they don’t want you to find out about it or they’ve been tampering with it remotely somehow. Neither of those are good options. If it’s removed – you go back to normal. They know something’s up. They know you know. You meet an ‘unfortunate accident.’” Fives crooks his fingers and makes a face. “You have to.”

“Then I don’t get it removed.”

“…what?”

“You go,” Fox says. “You find out who’s behind this and you bring them down.”

“You won’t survive that long,” Fives says. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

“I do. Sleep. In two to three minute intervals.” Never long enough to let his guard down. Never long enough for the stiffness and the cold to take hold. “Micro-sleep is…good enough.”

Fives shakes his head. “No,” he says firmly. “No. Not good enough.”

“We don’t have a choice.”

“We find someone. We get them to remove it and fake a record. Say it was a tumor that had to go or it would’ve killed you.”

“Fives, who are we going to find in time?”

“You don’t have _any_ underworld contacts?”

Fox sighs.

“Well,” he says. “There is the one.”

\--

“That place smelled like you look.”

“Quiet, Fives,” Fox growls. His head is pounding, but it’s duller now. Not overwhelming, now.

“That took a long time. Your brain must’ve been a _mess_.”

If he didn’t need Fives to stay upright, he’d shove him off.

Fox sighs. Fives finally takes the hint and falls silent.

The speeder is where they left it. He didn’t think it would be. The level they’re on barely scratches the surface of the underworld, but on Coruscant, barely scratches is close enough.

“What’s our play?” Fives asks. Fox doesn’t lift his head from his hands. “Commander?”  
“I just want to sleep,” he mumbles.

“What?”

“Safehouse.”

Fives helps him inside, tosses the dust cover into a corner, and settles Fox on the couch. “All right. You rest up,” he says. “I’ll keep watch. If your man contacts us about the fake IDs, I’ll wake you.”

Once he’s out, he’ll be out for a while. Fox keeps that thought to himself, but he suspects Fives already knows it. “You can’t tell Rex.”

Fives doesn’t have to admit that that’s what he was planning: it’s written all over his face. “Look,” he says, “Rex can help us. He knows me. He’ll believe me.”

“Skywalker won’t.”

Fives bristles at that. “Why not?”  
“There was nothing wrong with the chip.”

It stops Fives cold. “What?”

“They gave it to me.” Fox fumbles for the sealed square he tucked into his pocket. “This chip is intact.”

Fives takes it from him. His face is a study in disgust. “This was in your head?”

Fox doesn’t hear him.

When he sleeps, he doesn’t dream. When he wakes, his heartbeat is steady. “Fives,” he croaks, and Fives’ head snaps up from the datapad.

“You’ve been out a hell of a long time,” he says. “I thought about calling Kix.”

“Kix thinks you’re dead.”

Fives flinches. “Your contact came through with the fakes,” he says. “They’re at a drop point. Coordinates are on the comm.”

“Good.” Fox eases himself upright. “That’s good.”

“What did you mean, there was nothing wrong with the chip?”

“It’s intact,” Fox says. “It wasn’t sending out interference. Someone from the outside had to have been transmitting to it.”

“Because of Tup.”

Fox is the commander of the Coruscant Guard. It doesn’t take a genius to piece it together: in the event of a purge, he’d be on the front lines. “I think they needed to make sure I’d be ready,” Fox says, and tries not to think about what would have happened if it had worked the first time they tried it, or if he hadn’t found a way to counteract their efforts to turn on a faulty chip. Whoever _they_ were. “They were going to turn it on…early.”

Fives swears under his breath, vulgar and unmistakably Mandalorian. “Yeah, but it didn’t work.”

“Maybe it was implanted improperly,” Fox says. “Maybe it’s been faulty all along. I don’t know. But if they’ve been trying to get it activated for this long, then odds are the tumor story won’t sell.”

“Yeah.” Fives winces. “I sorta figured.”

Fox should have realized too, but he’d been in too much pain, been too sleep-deprived, to think clearly. Damn it. “I’ll have to play it off,” Fox says. “Go about business as usual.”

“They’re going to know.”

“Then you’re going to have to work fast.”

“Fox, you can’t stay here.”

“I have to. Every clone on Coruscant has one of those chips. That includes my Guard. I won’t leave them.”

“I need to tell Rex. I have to warn him.”

“He can’t help you,” Fox says flatly. “Because who is he going to suggest going to for help, Fives? Skywalker. And Skywalker is chummy with the Chancellor. We’ll both end up locked in a cell until they ship us back to Kamino and cut us apart.”

Fives goes quiet. “Palpatine set me up,” he says, quiet rage building in his voice. “The Chancellor of the entire kriffin’ Republic.”

“I’ve loaded coordinates for two drop points onto the ‘pad,” Fox says, passing it over. “There’s a locker at one. Ditch the armor. Get into civvies. The second point is where you’ll find the fake IDs. Your first priority is to use them to get off Coruscant. Everything else is secondary.”

“What do you think he has to gain by killing the _Jedi?_ ”

“Power,” Fox says briskly. “That’s what they all want.”

“Damned politicians.”

“Get off Coruscant, Fives.” Fox clasps his shoulder and meets his eyes squarely. “All right? It’s up to you. I’ll do what I can here, but you have to find a way to prove it to the Senate.”

“I am _not_ appearing before the Senate,” Fives shoots back. “That’s – that’s not my area of expertise. And anyway, I’d be shot before I made it past the door.”

“Look, I’ve spent enough hours guarding senators to know how they think,” Fox says. To know which ones to trust, too. “I’ll do it, if it comes to that. But I need you to get the _evidence_.”

Fives nods, tucks the datapad into his belt, and takes a deep breath. He swipes his hand over the door sensor. It hisses open.

“Stay alive, _ner’vod_ ,” Fox says quietly.

Fives pauses. His back is turned; Fox can still see he’s steadying himself: his shoulders rise and fall.

“You too.”

Then he’s gone.

\--

_Deep space_

_19 BBY_

_Present Day_

“‘It’s up to you, Fives. You have to find the evidence, Fives.’ How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

He’s been going nonstop for four months and it feels like he’s spinning in circles. The chip’s manufacturer has long since been swallowed up by the Techno Union. He broke into the vault anyway and almost lost his arm when the security came crashing down on him and doors started slamming.

Reminded him a little too much of the Citadel.

Fives drops his head into his hands and drags his fingers through his hair. Just cut it again. Couldn’t have it getting ragged. Can’t imagine the kind of shit Rex would give him for it if it was.

If Rex is still alive.

“Need a next move,” he mumbles. The Techno Union base had next to nothing for data about the chip, and he wasn’t brave or stupid enough to go back to Kamino. The cloners’ third-party partners were all swallowed up, closed down, or consumed by the war’s fire. He went through that wreckage and was rewarded with a lot of empty, charred slates.

Coruscant has its share of secrets but those are sealed up tightly in the Chancellor’s office or living quarters, and there’s no way he’ll make it past the door at either of those locations without being eviscerated.

Fives swallows thickly. His hand goes to his throat and he rubs absently at it. Breathes to make sure he can. Breathes to push back the tide.

Damn the Chancellor.

Shaak Ti and Nala Se departed and it was like time slid to a stop. The troopers were frozen; it was just him and the Supreme Leader, staring one another down.

_You’re right. You’re right about all of it. A good soldier – but a terrible clone. You were bred to follow orders, CT-5555._

Then his throat tightened, squeezed, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, and in the space of a few seconds he saw a thousand lives lost and a million minds made machines. Saw Jesse, and Kix, and Rex, turning on Skywalker and Tano. Saw them shot. Saw the seething blaster smoke.

Saw them fall. Brothers all.

Then Fives could breathe again and his chest was on fire and there was a smug gleam to Palpatine’s eyes. _Now you see what you are powerless to stop_ , the Chancellor whispered, a sick tendril slithering into his brain. _Now you see what no one will ever believe._

Fives remembers the timestop ceased, remembers the rage roiling through his frame, remembers he knew he had to stop him even if he spent the rest of his life in a cage, but then Palpatine was crying out like a frail old man and General Ti flung Fives away and forced him to flee.

No one listened. No one believed.

And Rex thinks he’s dead.

_Fives! Fives, stay with me, Fives. Fives!_

Fives groans and scrubs at his eyes and heads to the weapons locker to check over his blasters. The ship’s a piece of junk, but it’s a functional piece of junk.

“Proof,” he mutters, scrubbing at his blaster’s barrel. “We need proof. For the Senate. The hell are they gonna do, Fox? Debate it? ‘Oh, the Chancellor’s the incarnation of like, Force evil? Oh, no, better form a committee. Talk about it for a few years while he commits genocide.’ Yeah. Great plan.”

It doesn’t take long to check over his weapons. It never does. That means he has plenty of time to contemplate what dead end he’s going to throw himself into across next.

Still not going to Kamino.

He should really go to Kamino.

“No,” Fives says to no one in particular. “No way. Not happening.”

Given the state of the Techno Union vault, it’s pretty doubtful that Kamino would have anything actually useful for his purposes, anyway. It’s not worth the risk of trying to get into the archives. The place is a fortress. Hevy found that out the hard way.

So. Kamino’s off the list.

For the thousandth time.

Fives scrolls idly through the data he’s been stockpiling while gallivanting across the cosmos for the last four months. He doesn’t have anything to show for it, just an abundance of rumors he’s been slowly tracking down and disproving.

“Echo, where the hell are you when I need you?”

Echo never answers, of course. Neither does Hevy or Hardcase. Fives chuffs a laugh. Maybe he shouldn’t talk to the dead. Maybe he’d be more worried if they started talking back.

Maybe he should call Fox.

“No,” Fives mutters. “No, he’s got enough to deal with.”

He’s not going to find anything else on the Republic end: short of storming the Chancellor head-on, he’s run out of options.

But the Chancellor had dealings with the Separatists. He started this damned war. He’s been playing both sides this entire time. If the Republic doesn’t have the answers he’s looking for, maybe the Separatists do.

The Separatist capitol is on Raxus. The Republic’s known about it for the entire war, but never had any way to strike at their enemy’s core. Too heavily fortified for a full-on assault. Too deep in Separatist space to infiltrate.

There’s gotta be some good intel somewhere there.

Oh, this is a much worse idea than Kamino.

“Here goes nothing,” Fives mutters, and guns the hyperdrive.

It can’t be worse than the Citadel.

\--

“Transmit your transponder code and wait for authorization to enter the atmosphere.”

Fives’ heart leaps into his throat. Transponder code. Oh, _osik_. He falsified it when he stole the piece of junk from the shipyard, but it was designed to fool the security provisions put in place by the Republic. He has no idea what Separatist transponder processing even looks like.

Maybe this is what Rex meant when he said he didn’t always think his plans through.

“Derelict-class freighter, identify yourself.”

Fives presses his eyes shut and slams the button to send the code. At this rate, this’ll be the most pathetic and short-lived mission of his career.

How long is this supposed to take, anyway?  
“You’re cleared to land. Proceed to Bay Five.”

Fives blows out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Lucky,” he mutters.

Or maybe not. No sooner has he landed and powered down than what has to be a welcoming delegation has formed outside his ship. Either the Seppies are the most hospitable bastards in the galaxy, or the ship he stole belonged to someone they know personally.

Panic wells up in his chest. Fives scrambles for the extra gear crate. There’s one helmet there, smooth and sleek with a golden visor that sweeps from his chin to the top of his head and encompasses nearly half the kit. It’s a weird adjustment, but it makes for great visibility; he mapped the HUD while sitting in hyperspace a few weeks back. The thing was on the ship when he stole it.

Hopefully it belonged to the original owner and not to someone they wanted dead.

Fives tugs it on and checks that his blaster is loaded and his vibroblades sheathed.

The ramp hisses down.

It’s the longest walk of his life.

“Janseek Serrano,” the group’s apparent leader says. He’s a wisp of a human man with a greasy smile that would make anyone dislike him immediately. “You’re back earlier than we expected. You have the cargo?”

Cargo. Right. The cargo. “No,” Fives says shortly.

The man furrows his brow. “Then what are you doing back on Raxus? You were supposed to bring us the algorithm the Techno Union so carelessly…misplaced.”

Bring them an algorithm’s code as cargo. Fives wrinkles his nose. “I’m resupplying,” he says, instead of _What the hell are you on about?_ “Have a few things I need to check on. Then I’ll go get your algorithm.”

The welcome in the group froze away the second he said he wasn’t carrying cargo. It feels like he’s boxed in by glacial glowers. “If you’ll excuse me,” Fives says.

“It’s been three months,” the man hisses. That infernal smile is still in place. His eyes gleam malice. “If you can’t do the job, we’ll get someone who can.”

“It’ll get done,” Fives growls. “Now excuse me.”

They leave as one.

Fives makes sure the ship is sealed up and then slips onto the streets of Raxus. It’s not hard to pick out where to go. The Separatist command center is the focal point for the surrounding city, a wide, elegant dome topped with a towering silver spire.

What has Fives’ attention is not the government building. It’s the massive, blocky compound a quarter klik away from it. That’ll be the military base.

That’s where they’ll keep all the good stuff.

Fives neck prickles. He turns slowly. Civilians going about their day. A few security guards. Some droids.

No one tracking him. No one out of the ordinary.

“Relax,” he mutters. “Just try to relax.”

He used to think Echo was the one that was wound too tight.

Fives watches the base until the sun dips below the horizon. The guards are droids; their patterns aren’t hard to map. It’s once he’s inside that there’ll be an issue. No idea what he’s walking into. No schematics to guide him.

Flying blind.

Just like old times.

Fives waits for the patrols to pass. He’s about to sprint for the fence, duck down, and try to wire his way in when a hand lands on his shoulder.

His blood runs cold.

Fives whips around. His vibroblade is in his hand and then it’s pressed to his assailant’s throat.

There’s a barrel to his forehead.

“Which one of us do you think wins here?” the attacker asks dryly. The voice sounds different coming through the helmet’s filters, harsher and more mechanical, but he knows it. Lithe. Pale. Lightsabers clipped to her belt.

Ultimately unmistakable.

Ventress.

Fives freezes.

“Put the knife down,” Ventress says.

Fives clutches the hilt tighter. “And if I don’t?”  
“Then we’ll have a little more trouble coming to an understanding.”

Blaster beats blade every time. Fives slowly lowers his vibroblade and takes a hesitant step back. Ventress follows suit. Her blaster stays in her hand.

“You’re not Serrano,” she says, cocking her head at him. “But you’ve got his helmet and his ship.”

“What’s it to you?”

“He owes me,” Ventress says. “I’ve been tracking your movements for the past few days. I thought Serrano was crawling back here to hide.”

“Clearly, you were wrong,” Fives says. Her hands stay solidly on her blaster and don’t shoot to her lightsabers. Maybe she’s in a good mood. After Tano was arrested, Rex heard from Skywalker that Ventress wasn’t working for the Separatists any more. Must have gone mercenary.

Maybe he can still walk away from this.

“It’s a real pity.”

“Look, I just stole the ship. I’m not responsible for his debts,” Fives says. “You want Serrano, I’d recommend asking around Skako Minor. That’s where he was when I hitched a ride and snagged his junker.”

“There’s nothing on Skako Minor except a Techno Union base,” Ventress says calmly. There’s an undercurrent of malevolence to her words, maybe a warning against trying to lie. She has the Force, too. Fives guesses she’d know just as quickly as Skywalker does.

“There is not.” Not a lie. Seems safe. Fives edges his foot backwards. The end of the alley isn’t far, maybe a couple of meters; he’d think about making a run for it if he hadn’t seen what she could to a platoon of troopers firsthand.

Ventress sighs and cracks her neck in a way that makes him think she’s rolling her eyes. “You’re not a Separatist,” she says.

“Nope.” Another slight step. A little bit closer. Maybe she’ll get bored and wander off to skewer some other poor idiot.

“You won’t make it.”

Fives stops. “What?”

She juts her chin toward the bastion. “Once you set foot in that base, you’re not coming back out.”

“That’s my concern.”

“What’s a clone doing on Raxus?” she asks.

Fives stares at her. Should have known she’d figure it out next to immediately. She probably knew the second he opened his mouth to speak.

“If this is an incursion, it’s a very sad one,” she says.

“I’m not affiliated with the Republic any more.”

“A deserter, then.”

“Something like that.”

Ventress snorts softly. “I know the feeling.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Fives says shortly. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Now, if you’re done?”

Ventress holsters her blaster and tugs off her helmet. She studies him for a long beat that feels like an eternity. Maybe she’s deciding if it’d be too much trouble to kill him.

“Well?”  
“What were you after on Skako Minor?” she asks.

“Information,” Fives shoots back tensely. Turned out that was a dead end, too. They had nothing on the control chip. “Can I go?”

“Word has it Serrano took a bounty from the Separatists,” Ventress says, like she hasn’t heard him. “The Techno Union lost something very important and they want it back.”

“Yeah, great, good for them,” Fives says. “I don’t care.”

“What is it?”

Five wrinkles his nose. “What?”

“What did they lose?” Ventress’ gaze doesn’t waver. She’s boring a hole into his brain. Fives sets his jaw stubbornly. She sighs. “The bounty Serrano took was worth twice the money he owes me. If I deliver the target before he does, I get what he would be paid.”

“Some algorithm,” Fives shrugs. “Big deal. That chip could be anywhere in the galaxy right now.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” There’s a pensiveness to her face he can’t place. It makes him uneasy. He wants to reach for his pistol.

She almost killed Rex on Christophsis.

“Are you ever gonna stop talking?”

“You won’t make it out of that base.” Ventress’ smirk is faint, in the dying light of the fading sun. “Not alone.”

“That’s my business,” Fives says coolly. “I’m not interested in working with you.”

“You know the Republic. I know the Separatists.” She shrugs. “Affiliated or not. I help you get the data from in there, you help me get that chip out of Republic custody.”

“How do you expect me to do that, exactly?”

“You’re a clone. Take off your helmet and you’re just another face in the crowd.”

Fives bristles. She’s killed hundreds of clones – hundreds of his brothers. She almost killed Rex.

But she has a point.

“Fine,” Fives snaps. “But once you have that chip we part ways.”

If she knows he has no intention of following through, she doesn’t show it. Dealing with a slighted assassin is a problem for tomorrow’s Fives. Ventress’ lips curve into a smile.

“Follow me.”

\--


	5. The sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rex and Echo conspire.
> 
> Fox keeps looking over his shoulder. One of these days, something's going to look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings that I can think of, but if I'm mistaken please let me know and I'll add whatever I may have missed

“Echo.”

There’s something like grief in Rex’s voice. “What is it?” Echo asks quietly.

Rex’s shoulders heave, once. He sucks in a breath. “It’s nothing,” he says. He clears his throat. Blinks. Blinks. “What’d you learn?”

“What is it?”

Rex swallows thickly. On the datapad instead of the hologram, it’s so much easier to see. “I’m all right,” he says roughly. “What did you find?”

“Rex.”

Rex meets his eyes. Echo’s heart breaks. There’re tear tracks stained into his skin. “What happened?” Echo asks. “Is everyone all right?”

Rex takes a shuddery breath. “Jesse took a hit,” he says hoarsely, and Echo jolts. “He took a hell of a hit. He’s gonna be all right. I just…”

He lifts his hands helplessly. Echo wishes he was there, wishes he could wrap his arms around him and say _it’s okay, ner’vod, I’ve got you_. But he’s not there – by the looks of it, no one is. The room behind Rex is the officer’s quarters he’s always assigned aboard the capital ship and almost never opts to use.

“Why are you all by yourself?”

“Talking to you, _vod_.” Rex’s smile is weak, wobbly. He steels it. It’s a valiant effort. Echo thinks it’s probably a good thing he’s in separate quarters, because Kix would call him out in a second.

Echo stares at him for a long beat. “What did you find?” Rex asks again. His voice is steadier now. “You comm’d me seven kriffin’ times, Echo. What is it?”

“Sorry,” Echo blurts, though he knows Rex doesn’t really mind. Rex arches an eyebrow at him. He rushes ahead. “There wasn’t much on Kamino. We still can’t prove who the client is, but between what we pulled from the Kaminoan archive and what I learned while I was in stasis on Skako Minor, I put it together.”

“And?”

“I think it’s the Chancellor,” Echo says. Rex’s eyes blow wide. “I know what you’re going to say. I know that sounds crazy. But think about it! Nala Se drugged Fives and Palpatine framed him to discredit him.”

“Nala Se drugged Fives?” Rex’s voice holds a quiet menace.

“It was a line at the end of her final report. She didn’t want him to disclose any details about the chip. She claimed they only exist to keep us docile, that they’re a way to keep any stray Jedi in line.”

Rex scowls.

“There’s – there’s more,” Echo says. “When I was in cold storage, I saw everything those servers handled. Every contract. The Republic put in a lot of them. They were all authorized by the Chancellor. But the thing is, none of that equipment ever made it to the battlefield. Not the walkers. Not the weapons. Not the fighters. None of it, Rex.”

“What’s he doing with all of it?”

“I don’t know. Storing it, maybe. Waiting until he’s wiped out the Jedi.”

“We’re at war,” Rex says. “Why in the hell would he want all of the Jedi dead?”

“If they’re out of the picture, maybe he has all the power,” Echo says. “I don’t know. I don’t know, Rex. I just know that he’s involved. He might even be the source of all of it. Maybe he’s been a Separatist all along. Maybe he wants us to lose.”

“Why would a Separatist commission an army for the Republic?” Rex furrows his brow. “Why not just launch a strike with the droids?”

Echo shrugs helplessly.

Rex’s glower darkens. “They drugged Fives,” he mutters. His hand curls into a fist, clenched so hard his arm shakes.

“Yeah.” Echo waits a beat. “Rex?”

Rex’s expression softens. The shaking eases. “Yeah?”

“Are you gonna be all right?”

Rex goes silent for a moment. “We have to consider a contingency,” he says quietly. “If he senses we’re closing in, he might pull the trigger early. Then we lose every single clone that hasn’t had their chip removed.”

“Are you going to be all right?” Echo asks again.

Rex sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose and presses his eyes shut. “Just stay safe out there,” he whispers. “You keep yourself alive.”

“I’ll try my best.”

Rex takes a moment and then raises his head. “What’s your next move?”

“Coruscant,” Echo says. “If we’re going to manage a contingency, we need to get into the Chancellor’s office and figure out how he’s going to trigger the chip. If we can’t prove it and we can’t remove everyone’s chips in time, we can at least modify the command going out. Buy some time.”

Rex nods grimly. “It would help if we had more information on how the chip works. Schematics. Programming.”

“Tech is taking apart the ones we have,” Echo says.

“Good.”

“He’s hoping to find the command and rig up a redirect. We’ll do recon, get in, get it done, and get out.”

“You know, what we’re talking about is treason.”

If they fail, they’re all finished. Echo sets his jaw. “We’re not going to fail,” he says. They can’t fail. “Fives died for this.”

Rex chuffs a hopeless laugh. “I know,” he says hoarsely. His voice cracks. “It just reminds me of Umbara.”

Rex looks absolutely gutted. Echo almost asks – almost – and then resolves to have Tech find him the file later. “I’m here,” he says softly, and watches Rex shutter up and close off.

“You’re going to need access to the Senate,” Rex says. He hesitates, calculating.

“Commander Fox,” Echo says for him.

Rex makes a face. “He’s a straight shooter,” he says. “I just don’t know how well he’ll take to the idea.”

“We have evidence.”

“It’s all circumstantial. There’s nothing solid linking the Chancellor to the chips.” Rex drags his hands down his face and blows out a breath. He looks as exhausted as Echo feels. “We might have to chance it.”

“We could come up with a cover.”

“We’re going to need him,” Rex says. “For more than just this mission.”

If – when – they prove the Chancellor’s involvement, it’ll implicate him in enormous acts of treason. He’ll be a traitor to the Republic. They’ll need Fox’s Guard to arrest him. “He’s still our brother,” Echo says. “That has to mean something.”

“It will. It’s just…it’s a lot to ask of anyone. Especially after Fives.”

It’s achingly silent for a moment.

“I miss him,” Echo says quietly.

Rex’s eyes are haunted.

“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”

* * *

It’s too quiet.

Fox spent the first weeks after the chip’s removal working to recover from all of the damage it did to sleep and sanity alike. He wishes he could ask Exon for a plan: the man has saved more lives than he can count and overseen more recoveries than he cares to think about.

But they transferred Exon. They’re probably monitoring Exon. If Fox contacts him, he’ll put Exon in danger too.

So he sleeps and he spends every waking moment looking over his shoulder. The first week passes – no one puts a bag over his head in the middle of the night and drags him out of his quarters. No one comms him. There is no unusual summons.

Hygiene. Gear up. Get to work. For four months, it’s the same old routine.

Until it isn’t.

Getting called to the Chancellor’s office isn’t unusual. It’s getting called to the Chancellor’s office alone that makes his hair stand on end.

Fox sits on the edge of his bed for a long time after the message comes through. Then he very slowly gets to his feet and palms open the top drawer on his dresser. In the very back is a hidden compartment.

As far as contingencies go, it’s not the best. But if he doesn’t make it back, if he’s walking into a trap, hopefully Fives will think to check his quarters for his final signs. On Kamino, the clones had a habit of stashing contraband anywhere they could manage it. It shouldn’t be too hard for Fives to find.

Fox closes his eyes and takes a breath.

It’s time.

He doesn’t remember the walk there: it’s rote and numb, mechanical and automatic. Fox finds himself staring at the grand entrance to the Supreme Chancellor’s office and takes a moment to square his shoulders and heave a long and measured breath. Palpatine can’t know for sure that he’s had his chip removed: maybe he just assumes it’s finally gone dead and can’t be transmitted to at all.

Fox knocks.

“Come in, please.”

Fox palms the door open, steps inside, and snaps to attention. “Sir,” he bites off.

Palpatine’s features are kindly. He looks like someone’s elderly relative as they were depicted in the Familiarization With Civilian Familial Structure module they were assigned to complete as children on Kamino. It’s the face of someone’s grandfather.

It’s the face of a traitor.

“Commander, I want to commend your handling of the Ubese delegation,” Palpatine says. “I understand they were most difficult to work with.”

“They wanted to refuse diplomatic escort,” Fox says. “With the threats that were made against the Senator, I disagreed.”

“Yes, and you thwarted a would-be assassin.” Palpatine’s mouth curves into a small smile that, for all of its sincerity, makes Fox uneasy. “Very good work indeed.”

“My men, sir.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My men apprehended the assassin,” Fox says. “I was at the command center, overseeing the operation.”

“Surely your contribution was just as significant.” Palpatine’s smile widens a fraction. Fox suppresses a flinch.

“No, sir. I—”

“Commander Fox,” Palpatine chides, “you underestimate your own importance. Your role is a critical one. Without you, where would your force of peacekeepers be? For that matter, where would Coruscant be? You are taking dangerous criminals off our streets. That is no small feat.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Which brings me, I’m afraid, to the primary purpose for your visit.”

“Sir?”

“Doctor Ryl notified me that you have skipped no less than six medical evaluations,” Palpatine says. “That is simply unacceptable.”

Fox stares blankly at him. When did Ryl request he be evaluated? There’s nothing on his datapad. There’s nothing on his comm. If there had been, he wouldn’t have just skipped the appointment: he would have, in no uncertain terms, refused to spend even a second with that _di’kutla_ ‘doctor.’

Palpatine clearly expects an answer. His eyes narrow. “I’ve been very busy, sir,” Fox says haltingly. “I’m afraid I didn’t have time for the evaluations.”

“Your health and continued service are of paramount importance to me,” the Chancellor says firmly. “Ryl also informed me that you had been experiencing headaches for which you sought the clone medic Exon’s expertise. He recommended treatment, but there is no record anywhere of this treatment being carried out. Can you explain this to me, Commander?”

He never told Exon he was having headaches.

“No, sir,” Fox says. His heart is pounding. He remembers Fives.

Palpatine’s eyes crinkle kindly. “My dear Commander, you will not be able to keep Coruscant safe if you allow your own health to deteriorate. I must insist that you submit to an immediate evaluation. Allow Doctor Ryl to devise a treatment plan for you. Don’t suffer needlessly.”

They transferred Exon after Fox asked him for help – after he made a record of Fox’s symptoms. After he suggested a level five atomic brain scan.

That’s exactly what the underworld contact used to detect the chip for removal.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Chancellor,” Fox says past the tightness in his throat. “The headaches were temporary. Probably due to a virus. I’m fully recovered, sir.”

Palpatine’s eyebrows arch elegantly. “Let me make clear that this is not a suggestion. You will report to Doctor Ryl for an evaluation. The wellbeing of all the citizens on Coruscant is in your hands. Without you, they would be in graver danger than they know.”

“Sir—”

Palpatine holds up a hand. “I won’t hear it,” he says. “You are absolutely irreplaceable, Commander. We can’t afford to have you at anything less than your best.”

For a second, Fox forgets how to breathe. Palpatine rises from his desk and crosses the distance between them. “My Senate Guard has been summoned to escort you to a transport,” he says, putting an arm around Fox’s shoulders and guiding him to the door. “They’ll make sure you are well taken care of.”

“Sir, my men,” Fox says. “I have to notify them that I will be taking a leave of medical absence. There are orders I have to—”

“I assure you, your men will be looked after.” Palpatine’s tone broaches no argument. “I want you to focus on getting well, Commander.”

“I am well, sir,” Fox shoots back. There’s no desperation to his tone, but it’s there, in his chest, there, in his veins: pulsing, pounding adrenaline. Is this how Fives felt?

“Ignoring your health is not a sign of wellness,” Palpatine admonishes. He palms the door open. As he promised, his Elite Senate Guard stands at the ready. There are too many to take alone, or at least without creating a commotion and bringing the rest of the Senate guards down on him. They’d call for backup: summon the Coruscant Guard.

He can’t shoot another brother.

“I’m _fine_ , sir,” Fox says. “I have a job to do.”

“Yes, Commander,” Palpatine says, withdrawing. He folds his hands in front of him, the picture of placidity. His smile is still plastered in place but it feels colder; a shiver runs down Fox’s spine. “You do.”

The Senate Guards close around him. Fox’s heart is going to explode out of his chest. He follows them to the transport. They sit on either side of him. The transport lifts off; it should be a short journey from the Senate chambers to the base.

One minute passes. Two. Three.

“Base medical is the other way,” Fox says.

“We have orders to admit you to the Grand Republic Medical Facility,” the Guard’s Captain says calmly. “Sit tight. We’ll be there before you know it.”

The Grand Republic Medical Facility is where they took Tup. Where Palpatine framed Fives.

If Palpatine is having him admitted to make his chip functional, the staff will discover in very short order that there’s nothing present to repair. Then what? Implant a new chip? Recondition him to make sure he knows absolutely nothing about the conspiracy? Fox clenches his teeth.

Reconditioning is a scare tactic they use on Kamino: they tell clone trainees to keep in line, keep excelling, or you’ll be sent to the reconditioning chamber and someone else will come out. Fox never knew anyone who met that end but he heard whispers about it from other platoons.

It feels less like a ghost story when he’s slated for the same fate.

The Grand Republic Medical Facility looms on the horizon, a towering silver structure that stands out despite the equally grandiose buildings surrounding it. The transport touches down. The Captain nudges him with his staff, a warning and a cue.

They lead Fox inside. There’s a team already waiting to receive him. Fox sweeps his gaze across them and freezes.

“CC-1010,” Nala Se says. She inclines her head at him and blinks, once. Fox wants to reach for his pistols. His hands twitch at his sides. “I understand you are experiencing difficulties. Do not be alarmed. I will ensure that these issues are resolved as quickly as possible so that you may return to your duties.”

The Senate Guards escort him to an examination chamber. “Remove your armor and don the provided fatigues, CC-1010,” Nala Se says. “I will return after I have completed the necessary authorization for your admittance to this facility. It is not customary for clones to receive treatment here.”

The door hisses shut behind her. Fox hears the lock click into place.

All right. Options.

If he stays, then they run the brain scan and discover he’s had his chip removed. Maybe they assume he knows about the conspiracy. Maybe they don’t care about if or how much. They replace the chip. They recondition him to keep the conspiracy airtight.

If he leaves, they know he knows something for sure. They hunt him down. They dig deeper. They don’t stop looking. They’re on high alert. Whatever they’re planning to unleash goes forward in full force, maybe sooner than originally planned.

A lot of people die – clone and Jedi alike.

The only advantage he has is that they don’t know about Fives.

Fox changes into the fatigues and perches on the edge of the bed with his helmet in his hands.

Why is Nala Se here? Why now? Why wait four months to bring him in? Were they watching all this time, trying to trigger his chip? Was Nala Se unavailable until recently, occupied with her duties on Kamino and unable to make the intergalactic trip? Or are they planning to launch their plan sooner rather than later and need to activate his role immediately?

 _You are absolutely irreplaceable. You have a job to do._ It’s too specific to be a coincidence, but maybe Palpatine was probing, trying to see if he’d betray what he knew.

Fox groans and drops his forehead to his helmet.

He has no way to warn Fives: if Fox had no reliable way to contact him, then Palpatine would have no reliable way to track him. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

It’s been four months – and not a word.

He better still be alive.

Fox’s datapad is back in his quarters at the barracks; even if he had it with him, he wouldn’t be able to leave Fives a message on it. After they put him into reconditioning, he has no doubt they’ll dispatch a small team to his quarters and storage locker to wipe every device down. Anything he left for Fives would only be suspect – would only tell them he had a partner.

The contingency will have to hold.

Damn this entire _shabla_ plan.

If he stays, he dies. If he leaves, Fives might.

If Fives is even still alive.

The door’s lock clicks open. Fox breathes, breathes, and raises his head just as Nala Se steps into the room. She’s flanked by a security squad, just Republic citizens, not clones. “It is time for your evaluation, CC-1010,” she says, already turning away. “If you would follow me.”

As if he has a choice.

Fox loses track of the scans and tests, though he’s sure most of it is for show. There’s only one that really matters: the one Exon was going to run. The one that Fives used to discover the chips.

He knows the moment the result comes back. He knows the moment they know.

Nala Se stiffens. “I see,” she says, an even monotone. She taps away at her screen for a few more minutes. Fox makes himself remember to breathe.

Kaminoans are usually hard to get a read on. In that moment, when Nala Se locks her gaze with his, Fox has never found it easier. He knows what’s coming. And she knows he knows. “We will need to run a few more tests, but it appears as though you will need a more advanced procedure to treat the issue,” she says, and he gets the sense she’s waiting for him to panic over her lie, to thrash and swing at the guards and make a break for the door.

No new chip. Just a clean slate.

Fox considers, for a brief and desperate moment, running the way Nala Se expects him to, thinks about throwing himself into the line of fire and going out fighting instead of lying down. “What’s wrong with me?” he asks, to keep up appearances and to push the idea from his mind. His chest aches.

Fives is still alive.

“Nothing that can’t be easily remedied,” Nala Se says. She turns her attention to the guards. “Escort CC-1010 to Chamber Zero-Five-One. I will join you momentarily.”

“What’s Chamber Zero-Five-One?” Fox asks. The guards haul him to his feet. He fights not to swing at them for touching him. Fights to go quietly. Fights not to fight.

Fives is still alive.

“It is a reconditioning chamber,” Nala Se says impassively, like she hasn’t just told him he’s being sent to his death. “You are defective, CC-1010, and require a complete neural reset.”

Memory wipe. Memory implantation. New imprints. New perceptions.

New person.

“I need _reconditioning_ because I had a few headaches?”

“You require reconditioning because you have removed your aggression inhibitor. That is unacceptable. You will continue to malfunction without it.”

“Hang on, I removed my _what_ —”

Nala Se doesn’t acknowledge him. The door slides aside and the guards drag him through. Fox doesn’t swing, doesn’t lash out.

But he’s not about to make it easy.

The chamber is large and silver and cold. There are two long rows of stasis chambers. Fox’s heart twists in his chest. The guards press him into the closest pod; while they’re strapping him in, while they’re shaving his head and fitting leads to his skull, he thinks of Fives, willing to die to save the others – willing to give his life to help Rex see through all the lies.

Fives is still alive.

It has to be isolated.

It has to be Fox.

If they think he’s a second outlier, the clone commander with the faulty control chip, then they won’t bother to look any further than they absolutely have to. They have no reason to believe he told anyone else. They have no reason to believe he didn’t act alone. They have no reason to believe he had any clue what’s really going on.

Fives is still alive. Fives still has a chance to save the others. Save Rex and Cody and Exon and the Guard.

“Test the connection.”

The mass of leads wired to his head buzz. Fox does his best not to flinch. There’s a lump in his throat. He swallows past it, pressing his eyes closed and focusing on one breath, two – another and another, again and again. Open your hand. Close it. Open your hand. Close it. Repeat. Remember your training. Repeat.

Repeat.

“I have established a connection. Close the pod.”

The pod hisses, whirring hydraulics. Fox’s breath catches, stutters. He coughs to clear it.

Just breathe.

“Beginning reconditioning sequence for CC-1010.”

Fives is still alive.

Fives has to be alive.

“ _Ret’urcye mhi ner’vod_ ,” Fox whispers hoarsely.

There’s an icy chill. There’s a burning pain.

Then there’s nothing at all.

\--


	6. Quid pro quo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fives and Ventress infiltrate the Separatist base.
> 
> Things do not go according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: brief description of an almost-panic-attack

Ventress makes it look easy.

They wait for the droids to pass and then she darts forward, flitting from shadow to shadow until she’s at the console. A wave of her hand and the security gate clicks open.

And he thought General Skywalker was a showoff.

Fives scowls and follows her inside the first building.

It’s a lot of long gray corridors and heavy metal doors; one looks the same as the next. Searching the place room-by-room would take days – and they don’t have that. “Do you have any idea where the data center is?” Fives asks tensely.

Ventress stops and cocks her head at him. Her face is hidden by her helmet but he’s sure she’s smirking. “Relax, trooper,” she drawls.

_The name is Fives_. “You said you knew your way around,” Fives says. “So where’s the data center?”

She snorts softly. “What’s your rush?”

He’s seen that same languid confidence in General Skywalker – just never in the middle of a base on one of the most heavily fortified Separatist planets in the galaxy. “Look,” Fives says. “I don’t know—”

She holds up a hand to silence him; he obeys by default. It takes him an infuriating second to realize that there’s no imminent danger: she just wanted him to shut up.

“They used an old blueprint for this base. The data center is at the heart of the compound,” Ventress says calmly. “But that area will be monitored by a video feed.”

“So _confuse it_ ,” Fives says. “Can’t you just do a – wave? Use the Force?”

Ventress scoffs and starts walking again. Fives waits a second and then goes after her. His blaster is still holstered but his vibroblade is a comforting weight in his gauntlet.

Ventress takes them through a series of twists and turns that Fives quickly memorizes. There’s no guarantee she wasn’t lying, that she didn’t just bring him along as a human shield in case their incursion went straight to hell – though he’s not sure how he’d manage to outrun someone who, more than once, has gotten the upper hand on Skywalker and Kenobi.

This is a worse plan than going to Raxus in the first place.

He can just hear Rex’s sigh.

Ventress stops so suddenly Fives almost runs right into her. “I did ‘the hand wave,’” she says dryly. “Feel free to charge in and trigger the other alarms.”

“Are there other alarms?”

“No,” she says, brushing by him into the control room, “but if there were, I’m sure you’d manage to trip them.”

She’s already standing by the chair at the console by the time he clears the hallway and seals the door. “After you,” she says, with an elegant wave of the hand.

Fives stares at her for a long beat and then stiffly walks over and takes a seat. She spins the chair around for him with a flick of the wrist, fast enough that he lurches forward with the force of the sudden stop.

“Thanks,” Fives grouses.

“Don’t mention it.”

A few keystrokes bring up the system. There are massive trees of folder hierarchies, some of which are labeled with sequences of letters and numbers that have no meaning without the correct cipher to decode them.

There’s too much data here to transfer. Too much to go through right now, too.

“Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?” Ventress asks, leaning over his shoulder to peer at the screen. “Or are you just hoping you happen across it?”

“You could be a little more helpful.”

“I got us in here,” she reminds. Fives doesn’t answer her. She sighs. “What are you looking for?”

“I don’t know,” Fives says shortly. He plugs in the drive; his fingers fly across the keys. There has to be something here. Even if he can’t access the actual contents of the files without the proper codes, he can at least get a sense of their secrets from their labels.

Projects. Ship schematics. Past troop deployments. Future campaigns. Battle plans. It’s a trove. Can’t imagine what the Republic could do with all this data if they got their hands on it – can’t imagine how it could turn the tide of the war.

He quietly starts a data transfer.

“You don’t know?” Ventress enunciates slowly.

Fives feels like he should probably at least turn and look at her, from the tone of her voice, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the screen. No time to waste. “It’s not that I don’t have any idea,” Fives says quickly, to save himself from an early decapitation and a second death. “It’s that I’m not sure the data even –exists.”

Ventress slams her hand down on the console. Fives jumps. “Explain,” she orders.

Explain that this entire war has been a sham. Explain that the Republic’s highest leader has been working against it since the start. Explain that there is a chip in every clone’s head that’ll turn them against the Jedi at the flick of a switch and every piece of documentation has been covered up and swept away. Explain that he’s trying to trace a conspiracy that’s not supposed to exist. Explain that he saw genocide sweep the galaxy, saw fire rise and brothers fall and in the end, when the smoke cleared, the Chancellor standing above it all.

Likely story.

Fives coughs a laugh.

“Did I say something funny?” Ventress asks lowly.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” she grits out.

Fives very deliberately removes his helmet and sets it down. Then he turns to meet her gaze.

“The Chancellor,” he says with a tight smile, “is a _di’kutla_ Sith.”

The air rings between them. For a second, Fives wonders just how right Rex really was – wonders if he’s about to get his second taste of death.

Ventress slowly tugs off her own helmet too. “What do you know about the Sith?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

“That they’re like the opposite of the Jedi. That you were an apprentice to one,” Fives says. “That Dooku’s one. That Palpatine’s one.”

“How would _you_ —”

“Because he – I don’t know, he froze time,” Fives hisses. It comes flooding back, a tumbling rush of ruin. Helpless. Held. Can’t breathe. It hurts to breathe. “Everything stopped and I heard his voice in my head. He showed me who he was. He showed me what he was going to do. What would happen to my brothers. What he would make them do to the Jedi. He’s planning a genocide.”

Ventress’ eyebrows shoot up. It’s quiet for so long he’s sure something inside her just snapped. “He showed you,” she says, “what he’s planning to do.”

“Yeah. That’s what I just—”

“How is he going to do it?”

“What?”

“The other clones,” she says. “How will he control them?”

“There are organic chips,” Fives says, “in every one of us.” Her face twists warily; he surges ahead. “Not me. I had mine removed. Long story. Bottom line: I have to stop him. I have to stop him from activating them.”

Ventress considers him. Fives makes himself breathe and keeps his hands visible and on the console. He’d be dead before he got halfway to his blaster anyway.

Rex would have a heart attack if he knew about all of this roulette: gambling his life on an assassin’s impulse.

“What else do you remember?” she asks finally.

“That’s it.”

“That’s it?”

“I was –” Can’t say drugged; she might think he hallucinated the whole thing. He wishes he had. Wishes he didn’t wake up sweating and clutching at his chest. He still hears that damned voice in his nightmares. Still feels the sick tendrils wind into his mind like a disease. “I was just a little overwhelmed at the time, all right?”

“Think,” Ventress says again. “He showed you exactly what he was going to do and you can’t remember it?”

Rex, firing. Rex, falling. Jesse. Kix. Gone. Fives shakes it off. “He said something,” he says, furrowing his brow. “He said something right before everything went to hell. Sixteen. Six. No. Sixty-six. Order Sixty-Six.”

“Check the records for a protocol Sixty-Six,” Ventress says, and when he doesn’t move fast enough she reaches over and does it for him in a flurry. The system whirs, spins – and stops.

Nothing.

Maybe he should have expected that.

“ _Haar’chak_ ,” Fives mutters.

Ventress doesn’t look impressed. “Move,” she says, and Fives scoots the chair out of the way so she can get to the console. She stares at him disdainfully. “Thank you,” she says, dripping sarcasm.

“Don’t mention it.”

If looks could kill.

Ventress spends ten seconds flipping through files and then abruptly stops, tilting her head like she’s listening for a sound he can’t hear. “Follow me,” she says, slipping to her feet and replacing her helmet. “There’s nothing for you here.”

Fives grimaces and pulls his own helmet back on. The second Ventress turns her back he disconnects the drive. No time to check the transfer status. It’ll have to be enough.

Time to move.

Ventress doesn’t walk back down the corridor: she flows, fluid grace; if he didn’t already know she was there he’s not sure he’d realize it until it was too late. If she decides to turn on him, chances are he wouldn’t see it until she was slitting his throat.

Yeah, definitely never telling Rex about this.

Ventress leads them to a far corner of the base. She waves her hand over the controls. The door hisses open.

It’s dark inside; Fives’ helmet automatically adjusts for the lighting. There are piles of boxes stacked haphazardly – crates and crates, stretching far back into the room.

It’s a warehouse of a store room and it smells like it hasn’t been emptied out since before the war started.

“What are we doing here?” Fives asks, but Ventress doesn’t look like she’s heard him. She keeps walking as if in a trance, further and further into the sea of durasteel. Fives rushes after her. What did Droidbait used to say all the time in that stupid, nasally joke voice that made Echo so mad? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

And if your enemy is an ex-Sith apprentice, you fuse yourself to her side.

Ventress doesn’t stop until she’s nearly at the back of the room. She freezes suddenly and slowly stretches one hand out. Either she’s snapped and completely lost it or the Force is telling her something. Fives snorts.

Can’t be anything that’ll help with the chip problem. Can’t be anything that’ll bring down Palpatine.

The air is thick. Heavy. It weighs on him, pressing at his skull. Fives shifts uncomfortably and shakes his head. It doesn’t do much to dispel it. His chest aches. Heart pounds. It feels wrong.

It feels like death.

“Hey,” Fives whispers, when she hasn’t so much as shifted for a good seven minutes. His mouth is dry. “What are you doing?”

Ventress only holds up her hand and raises one finger. Fives grits his teeth and does his best not to tap his foot.

Then, finally, she moves, snapping to a small crate and prying the lid off. It releases in a shower of dust. She sets it aside, taps her gauntlet, and turns the light on her prize.

Fives dares step closer. The crate looks like it might be the oldest thing in the place. It’s empty.

No, not empty. Not quite. There, at the bottom, are three lightsabers and a cube that looks a lot like the ones he’s seen Kenobi toying with every now and again. “What is all of this?” Fives asks.

“These boxes,” Ventress says in a hushed whisper. “They’re all filled with artifacts.”

“More lightsabers?”

The cube glows in her hand. “Among other things,” she says distantly, like she’s in a trance.

“What do the _Separatists_ want with artifacts?”

“If they have them, the Jedi don’t.”

Fives has never really understood the power the Jedi derive from their sacred objects. A cube’s a cube: just another way to store data. A laser sword is a laser sword: just a weapon. He guesses the Sith probably aren’t that different, just with a lot more backstabbing and genocide.

“Can we go?” Fives asks. Ventress takes a long moment. Slowly, almost reverently, she stows the lightsabers and the cube in her pack. Only once they’re secure does she turn to him.

“We need to move,” she says, as if the trance never happened.

Fives thought about leaving, but he was more afraid of having her behind him, out of sight, than he was of getting caught waiting. At least then she’d have an incentive to clear a path through the droids to the door instead of carving one through him.

It was quiet when they came in, off-hours, minimal staff and internal droid patrols; now there’s nothing. Now the quiet feels sinister. Wrong. The air is suffocating.

Ventress waves the door open.

At first Fives thinks someone threw a flashbang. He just barely gets a glimpse of the dilemma before a strong grip latches around his arm and yanks him back into the compound. The door slams shut on the floodlights.

The entire entrance is blocked by a battalion of droids.

“What did you do?” Ventress hisses.

She didn’t see the drive. Transferring some of the files must have tripped a silent alarm.

_Osik_.

No time for the truth. No way to lie.

Fives shrugs helplessly.

“What did you _do?_ ” Ventress demands again, low menace.

“Can we focus on the droid armada that wants to kill us?” Fives shoots back. “You said they used an old schematic. Where are the other exits?”

She growls. And then she’s off.

Even sprinting, he can’t keep up: he can only keep her in sight. Outside, the droids are rumbling, advancing: their commander’s not patient enough to wait for them to come out or maybe too worried about what else they might take if they’re allowed to stay in.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Fives says, skidding to a stop behind her. She’s popped a ventilation cover off the wall; at a glance, he knows he’ll fit into the shaft. It’s just not going to be pretty.

“Do you want to get out of here alive or not?” she asks.

Fives blows out a breath and forces himself forward. Ventress goes first, a lithe shadow some feet ahead of him; with her narrower frame, she can slip more easily through the sinuous system. He’s much slower, focused on not wedging himself a millimeter too far one way or another and finding himself a new and permanent addition to the base.

The droids are clanking around somewhere below them, an ominous thrum. Fives knocks his head. There’s a light thud. He pauses, doesn’t breathe – heart pounding – there’s nothing – then inches on.

_Keep quiet_. It rings in his mind suddenly, a sharp rebuke. His breath catches. His chest is tight. Fives swallows against the acid welling in his throat. He has to keep going. He has to stop. He has to stop.

Keep on.

There’s clattering ahead. Light. Ventress’ shadow disappears through the opening. A moment later, Fives follows after her. He realizes too late it’s not an easy drop out.

He falls face-first into the garbage receptacle. Ventress is perched easily on the side of the bin, surveying their surroundings.

At least it’s mostly old droid parts.

“My ship isn’t far,” Ventress says, while he struggles to climb up beside her. She glances at him. “You’ll never make it back to yours.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“If you’d taken your chances back there, you’d be dead,” she says, leaping gracefully down. Fives jumps after. Ventress faces him. He imagines she’s scowling under her helmet. “Besides, you owe me.”

“Deal’s off,” Fives says, dusting off some suspicious black mud.

“Oh?”

“There was nothing in there.”

“I said I’d help you get in and out. I didn’t promise they’d have what you were looking for,” Ventress says coolly.

It’s not quite tomorrow, but the slighted assassin is still Fives’ problem regardless. They stare at one another for an eternal moment. “We can have a standoff for the rest of the night,” Ventress says, “but the droids will find us before then.”

No choice. Not getting off that easy. “Fine,” Fives says.

Ventress doesn’t seem convinced, if the sharp set of her shoulders is any indicator, but she does let the matter drop. “Follow me.”

He’s done too much of that in just the last few hours.

The ventilation shaft dumped them out into a passageway that runs along the rear wall of the compound. There’s nothing behind it except a security fence and the sheer cliff-face that fence backs up to. No wonder the Separatists didn’t station any units here: no one in their right mind would try to escape this way.

They don’t have any climbing equipment.

Fives has a sudden image of Skywalker sending Rex flying through the air with a thought. “No,” Fives snaps, stabbing a finger at Ventress. She cocks her head, unimpressed.

With a wave of her hand, he’s rocketing up. His heart is in his throat, he’s too high, too high, then plummeting back down at breakneck speed. He tries to hit so he can roll a few times and then get to his feet but the angle’s wrong and he somersaults awkwardly three or four times before he ends up on his face.

Ventress lands beside him in a crouch and immediately shoots to stand. “Move,” she says, and Fives mutters every curse he knows while he’s stumbling upright and swiping at the mud on his visor.

He misses the _buy’ce_ in his ARC kit already.

“What did you do?” Ventress asks, when they’ve been walking long enough for him to hate hiking almost as much as Skywalker hates sand.

“What did you find in the magic box?” Fives retorts.

She snorts at that.

The rest of the walk is silent. By the time they arrive at the ship, the sun is just barely peeking over the horizon. The craft is smaller than the freighter he stole, but sleeker, lighter, and faster. If they run into any trouble in or out of atmosphere, it’ll be much easier to take evasive maneuvers.

If he’s still alive by the time they take off.

Fives drops down into the small bay behind the cockpit and knocks his head back against the wall. Ventress is occupied powering up the ship, running a brief system check and warming up the engines.

“So,” Fives calls, “you’re not going to kill me?”

The door seals. The engines roar to life. Fives reaches for the blaster at his hip.

“Like I said,” Ventress says without turning around, “you owe me.”

So he’s safe until he’s done being useful. Safe until he’s betrayed the Republic. “Do you even have any idea where the algorithm is?”

“Enough,” she says, and he’s not sure if she means information or questions.

For now, Fives decides he doesn’t really want to find out.

\--


	7. Strength in numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rex has been going like hell ever since they brought Echo home.
> 
> He can't keep doing this alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings.
> 
> Thank you all for reading - and for your wonderful comments! I really do appreciate every single one of them. :)

Echo’s on his way to Coruscant.

Rex keeps it in the back of his mind, mostly because banishing the thought has proven impossible.

The Bad Batch isn’t infiltrating the Separatists: they’re targeting the Republic’s supreme leader at the height of the bloodiest war the galaxy’s seen in centuries. There’s no way this can be spun as a sanctioned operation. If they get caught, they’re as good as dead.

Rex shakes his head and palms open the medbay door. Shouldn’t be worried. No reason to be worried. Echo’s an ARC. Echo’s one of the best. He’s part of Clone Force Ninety-Nine. He’ll be fine.

He’ll be fine.

“Jesse’s asleep,” Kix says without turning around. He’s standing with his back to the door, studying the three holoscreens he’s projected in an arc around him. “I reevaluated him today and he should be back on his feet in a week or two. Until then, sir, maybe you should get some rest yourself.”

“I’m on my way to a debrief,” Rex says. He wants to be annoyed that Kix knew who was coming through the door without even looking, but Rex has been in here every day he could manage it, sometimes twice a day, so it couldn’t have been that hard to guess.

“Where are we headed now?” Kix asks. He spares Rex a glance. His brow is furrowed. “We’ve got a lot of wounded. We’re nowhere near ready for another engagement.”

“That’s why they’re sending us back to Coruscant,” Rex says. “We’re leaving orbit in the next few hours.”

Kix snorts. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Rex can’t blame him for his skepticism. After Skako Minor, they were supposed to head back to the core worlds to regroup and resupply. Instead, they were called to neighboring system after neighboring system, driving the Separatist presence further and further back.

Putting out fires.

Rex has looked at the casualty list more times than he wants to admit.

“I have it from General Skywalker personally that we are, without a doubt, going to Coruscant,” Rex says.

Kix shakes his head. Something clatters in an adjacent room and he sighs. “Jesse,” he calls, “if I have to haul your _shebs_ back to bed one more time, I’m going to put you in a restraining field.”

Rex can’t help the small smirk.

“It’s not funny,” Kix grumbles, already heading for Jesse’s pod. “This is the third time today and it’s not even noon yet.”

Kix doesn’t make it all the way into the room. Jesse pokes his head around the corner, clinging to the doorframe to stay upright. His eyes are hazy and distant, like he just shook off sleep and isn’t fully awake yet. There’s a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Hey, Kix,” he says groggily, “seen Fives? Thought of a joke he’d like.”

Kix doesn’t react, but Rex suddenly feels like his heart is trying to twist his way out of its chest. “We’ve been over this, Jess,” Kix says gently.

Jesse blinks, trying mightily to recall. When he does, Rex knows immediately. His face crumples – and so does he. Rex rushes forward to help Kix catch him and carry him back to bed.

“Sorry,” Jesse mumbles, once he’s settled and tucked it. He toys with the edge of the blanket. Rex clasps one of his hands.

“It’s all right,” he says.

Jesse’s face is pained. “Lost a lot of brothers back there,” he says, biting his lip. He stares at their joined hands. Rex squeezes tightly. Jesse looks to him, pleading.

Hopeless.

“We’ll remember them,” Rex whispers fiercely. _Ni suc’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum_. He remembers when he added Tup and Fives to that recitation – remembers his voice cracking and Cody’s hand on his shoulder, solid and steady. “I promise you that, Jesse. We’ll remember them.”

“I don’t want to remember them,” Jesse hisses. “I want them here with me.”

“You should get some rest,” Kix says tiredly. “You can call me if you need me.”

Jesse scowls. “Hey,” Rex says quickly, “I heard from Echo the other day.”

He meant it as a distraction; it works better than he could have hoped. Jesse’s entire face transforms. “Yeah?” he says, suddenly beaming and scrambling to be a bit more upright. Rex stops him with a gentle hand to the chest. Jesse eases back down. “What’s he been doing?”

Committing treason. Rex hesitates.

“Never mind,” Jesse sighs. “Classified, right? Clone Force Ninety-Nine stuff.” He pats Rex’s arm with his free hand. “’s’okay. Did he say if he was coming back to see us sometime?”

“Next time Cody needs Ninety-Nine, he’ll be here.”

“But he’s okay?”

“He’s all right,” Rex says. “He’s in good hands.”

That seems to satisfy Jesse. He settles back and closes his eyes. Rex waits a moment and then carefully stands and slips out of the room with Kix. When he looks back, Jesse’s asleep.

But he’s still got his smile.

“That happens every time he wakes up?” Rex asks quietly. Kix palms the door shut.

“Not every time, but enough,” Kix says. He scrubs at his face. “It’s the painkillers. Sometimes he – he gets pretty confused. He asked about Hardcase yesterday.”

“We don’t have any other drugs.”

“We ran out of the other options, yes,” Kix says irritably. “If I could give that to him instead, I would. We’re badly in need of a resupply. I’m out of bacta patches too. General Skywalker came down to help, but he can only do so much.”

Skywalker’s just as exhausted as everyone else and, apparently, draining what little life he has left in him to heal his men. Rex blows out a breath. He feels a strange mixture of exasperation, admiration, and pride but by now, that’s his typical reaction to most things Anakin does.

“That’s the general,” Rex says.

“Try to get him to eat something,” Kix says, shoving a ration bar at Rex. “He brought his rations for the day down to make sure we had enough here.”

“I will.”

“Hey, Rex?”

Rex stops in the doorway. “Yeah, Kix?”

“Echo’s really okay?”

“Yeah, Kix.”

Kix’s smile is small, tired, but still so sincere. “Glad to hear it.”

Rex smiles back. It hurts more than he thinks it should.

Skywalker, Kenobi, and Cody are already gathered around the star chart by the time he walks into the control room. Anakin quirks an eyebrow. “You’re late, Rex.”

Like he has any right to talk.

Skywalker just barely catches the ration bar Rex launches at his head. “Hey!”

“Sorry for the tardiness, General. I had to pick up your dinner,” Rex says dryly. Cody tries – and fails – to hide a smirk. Kenobi doesn’t even bother.

“Captain, always a pleasure to see you,” Obi-Wan says warmly. His eyes are sparkling, a sharp contrast to the dark circles arcing beneath them. He holds his right arm close to his body; it’s supposed to be in a sling, if memory serves. Rex glances at it, then at Cody.

Cody shrugs. _Stubborn jetii. What am I supposed to do?_

Kenobi’s not oblivious to their exchange, silent though it may be, but he is courteous enough not to mention it.

Mostly.

“The Commander has a concussion and isn’t supposed to be vertical until tomorrow, but he assures he me the headache has subsided enough for him to participate in this debrief,” Obi-Wan says, bringing up the holo of the last campaign. “He also assures me that as soon as it is complete, he will follow his medic’s orders to the letter.”

Rex levels an accusing stare at Cody. Kenobi’s going on in the background, reviewing their troop movements and which strategies proved most effective; Rex barely hears him.

Cody, by all appearances, is engrossed in the holotable.

“When did that happen?” Rex demands, the second the debrief is done and Skywalker and Kenobi have stepped to the side to have their own discussion.

Cody sighs and cracks his neck. “Don’t worry about it, Rex,” he says. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not supposed to be up.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re sure—”

“When was the last time you slept?” Cody asks. “You don’t have to keep watch over Jesse every night. He’s perfectly safe with Kix as long as he doesn’t try to leave.”

It’s not just Jesse that keeps him from sleeping. It’s Echo. It’s Fives. It’s Tup. It’s Hardcase. It’s every man he couldn’t save and every brother that went to their deaths too soon because he was too late. Too late to stand up to Krell. Too late to bring Echo home. _You came back for me_ , he said, but Rex didn’t know he was even still alive. Didn’t check. Didn’t search. Just left him to the Separatists and the Techno Union. Left him for dead.

Left him behind.

“I don’t know,” Rex says, with a furtive glance at the Jedi: the last thing he needs is Skywalker hearing that and putting him on lockdown.

Cody frowns. It’s silent for a long beat. “Talk to me, Rex,” he says at last. “What’s going on?”

For a second Rex thinks about following him out, thinks about letting the grief and the fear and the pain crush him into falling apart and letting Cody pull him back together again, thinks about letting Cody hold him and say _it’s all right, vod’ika, I’ve got you_ like he did after Fives died and Rex showed up in pieces at his door in the middle of the night.

He can’t fall apart. Not now. And if he says a word about any of it, about the chips, about Fives, about the way Echo’s putting his life on the line, he just might.

“I wish I could.”

Cody stares at him, bewildered. “The hell does that mean?” he hisses. Out of the corner of his eye, Rex sees Kenobi stiffen slightly and glance at Cody; the two are so attuned it’s almost a little unsettling. Rex wonders briefly if he and Skywalker do that, he’s never thought about it, he just acts, but he doesn’t have the chance to finish the thought.

“Excuse us, Generals,” Cody says smartly, and then his grip is wrapped around Rex’s wrist and they’re leaving.

Cody doesn’t let go or stop walking until they’re a good ten feet away from the door. “You want to go somewhere and talk?” Cody asks. “Or do you want to keep doing this until you get killed?”

“What?”

“You don’t sleep. You’re barely eating—”

“ _Everyone_ is barely eating. We need to resupply. We’re out of medical provisions, we don’t have enough rations, we’re running low on—”

“Stop.”

Rex snaps his mouth shut. Cody waits a beat. “You need to tell me what’s going on,” he says slowly.

“There’s nothing ‘going on,’” Rex says. “I’m just – we’re all just tired.”

Cody blinks disdainfully at him. “Follow me,” he orders evenly.

Rex doesn’t have the energy or the inclination to argue. Cody leads them to his quarters. The moment Rex is inside Cody stabs a finger at the floor.

“Sit down, cut the _osik_ , and tell me what the hell is going on, Rex.”

Rex eases onto the floor with the care of a man who believes he might be shot at any moment. Cody – calm, controlled, concussed Cody – is fuming. “You wish you could,” he bites out. “What does that mean? When have you ever _not_ been able to come to me?”

“Cody, it’s really not—”

“No,” Cody snaps. “Don’t tell me it’s not that bad. Don’t tell me it’s nothing. I have watched you run yourself into the ground ever since we brought Echo home and I have waited for you to tell me what’s wrong and you haven’t.”

“There is nothing _wrong_ ,” Rex says. It sounds hollow to even his ears.

Cody levels a stare at him.

“I’m fine.”

“How?” Cody demands. “How is this fine?”

“I’m just trying to keep them alive!” Rex barks. “I’m doing my job. That’s _fine_.”

Cody’s eyes are pained, suddenly, suffused by a deep grief Rex has so rarely seen him show. “You’re not the only one who’s tired of burying his brothers,” he says hoarsely. His voice cracks. “I won’t bury you too, Rex. Not when I can help it.”

There’s a lump in Rex’s throat. “I’m sorry, Codes,” he says, dropping his head to his hands and driving his fingers into his temples. It’s an old nickname. He can’t remember using it since Christophsis. Can’t remember why he stopped.

“Look at me.”

“You’ll think I’ve lost my mind,” Rex whispers. It doesn’t escape him that that’s too close to what Fives told him, in his final moments. Eyes blown wide. Terrified for his life. So close. Too far. He couldn’t get to him, shield him, calm him: he could only hold him as he died.

“Rex, look at me.”

Rex slowly raises his head. Cody’s kneeling in front of him so they’re at eye level. “We’re brothers,” he says fiercely, taking hold of Rex’s shoulders. “Nothing changes that. Whatever it is, we’ll face it together, the same way we always have.”

“It’ll sound crazy,” Rex croaks. “I can’t—”

“ _Vod’ika_ , you have to trust me.”

Rex manages a shaky nod. “It’s Fives,” he blurts before he can think twice, and the tears prick at his eyes. The name hurts. Too close. So far. He hears Cody take a sharp breath. “I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t save any of them. I—”

“What happened to Fives was not your fault,” Cody says firmly. _We’ve talked about this_.

“Nala Se drugged him,” Rex says, barely audible.

“You don’t have any proof of that, _ner’vod_ ,” Cody says. His voice is pained. “Whatever happened to Fives – whatever went wrong – it was a virus. He had a virus, like Tup. We didn’t catch it soon enough.”

“I have proof,” Rex says.

“How?”

“Kamino.”

“When did you have time to go to Kamino?” Cody asks, and even as he’s asking the question the answer is forming in his eyes. He presses them closed for a beat. “Of course you didn’t. Echo did.”

“Nala Se drugged Fives so he would be out of his head,” Rex says. “The Chancellor framed him so he went on the run and by the time we found him he was so desperate and paranoid I couldn’t reach him. But it’s not a conspiracy theory, Codes. He wasn’t crazy. There is a chip in every clone’s head and one day, they are going to activate it and none of us is going to have a choice.”

There’s too much compassion in Cody’s eyes. “You don’t believe me,” Rex says quietly. His chest pangs. Fives. Ragged. Screaming. _Please_.

“It’s not that, Rex.”

“Then what is it?”

“I read the official reports and the audio transcripts from the…Fives incident. There is a chip,” Cody says, “but it’s just an aggression inhibitor. It’s there to keep our emotions in check and to give the Republic a way to deal with any rogue Jedi. That’s it. It’s not going to overwrite our free will.”

“It overwrote Tup’s.”

Cody rubs at his temples. Concussed. He must have a headache; all of this stress can’t be helping. “All right,” he says tiredly. “All right, let’s say you’re right and this chip can make us do whatever they want whenever it switches on. Who’s holding the trigger?”

Oh, this is going to sound bad. “Echo and I,” Rex says haltingly, “we think it’s the Chancellor.”

Cody’s eyebrows shoot up. His face twists incredulously. “You think the _Supreme Chancellor_ is behind a plot to destroy the Republic. You think—”

“I know what it sounds like,” Rex interrupts. “I know. But I’m not crazy, Cody. I’m tired, but I’m not _crazy_.”

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Cody says, blinking. “What you’re saying doesn’t just sound crazy. It sounds insane.”

“You asked me to trust you,” Rex says, searching Cody’s face. “Now I’m asking you to trust me.”

Cody’s silent for long moment. Then he blows out a long breath and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Please,” he says, “at least tell me you have more evidence.”

* * *

“That’s all circumstantial.”

“I know, Cody.”

“If we’re going to prove this to a Senate committee, we’re going to need something concrete.”

“I know, Cody.”

Cody furrows his brow. “There’s just this one thing I can’t work out,” he says.

“What is it?”

“Why would the Chancellor want to wipe out one of the Republic’s most valuable military assets? You take the Jedi out, all you’ve got left is us. And we’re effective, sure, but we’re no Jedi.”

“I don’t know,” Rex says. “We’re working on that. Right now, the top priority has to be stopping the signal from going out at all. Proving it to the Senate comes second.”

“Worse comes to worse we’ll just shoot the _chakaar_ ,” Cody surmises humorlessly.

“If we have to.”

“What if we’re wrong?”

Rex thinks of Fives – desperate, terrified Fives. “We’re not wrong.”

It’s silent for a moment. Dimly, Rex realizes they’ve been here for hours. No wonder he’s so drained.

“It has to be about the power.”

“What?”

Cody moved to sit against the side of his bed while Rex was explaining. He drums his fingers on the floor. “Somehow, taking out the Jedi gives him more power. But that doesn’t make any sense unless he’s somehow in direct competition with them for that power.”

“Maybe he is. They’re war heroes. Maybe he wants the glory.”

“No,” Cody says. “I’m not talking about political power. I’m talking about the Force.”

“The Force?”

“Yeah,” Cody says. “The Sith.”

“What, like Ventress and Dooku?”

“Exactly,” Cody says. He leans forward and folds his hands in his lap. “Look, back when we first ran into Ventress, I asked Kenobi about them. I wanted to understand how they worked. He basically gave me a seminar.”

“Sounds like Kenobi.”

Cody coughs a laugh at that, but it’s fond. “Right. Well, he told me that, in the Force, there’s light and dark. The Jedi are devoted to the light. The Sith serve the dark. You following me?”

Rex nods.

“Somehow, they’re out of balance. The Jedi have this sense, like – like there’s this darkness on the horizon just out of sight. Kenobi told me that looking at it through the Force is like trying to fly a gunship around a mountain in a dense fog. You know it’s there. You’re just not sure how to avoid it. One miscalculation and you’re dead.”

“So you think the Chancellor has something to do with the darkness.”

“Maybe.” Cody looks pensive. He’s staring past Rex, not at him. “If we’re right, if there is a plot to destroy the Jedi, I’d place my bets on it having something to do with the Sith. Maybe it’s what Kenobi’s been sensing this entire time.”

If _we’re_ right. Not _you’re_ right. _We’re_. Rex feels a flood of relief fill his chest. Cody’s onboard.

Suddenly, he doesn’t feel so alone.

“You think the Chancellor is a Sith?”

“No,” Cody says shortly. “The Council’s made up of the most powerful Jedi in the Order. If Palpatine was a Sith, they’d have known it.”

Kenobi’s on the Council; Rex wonders briefly just how much faith Cody really has in the Council itself and what fraction of his confidence is based on his belief in Obi-Wan. “Maybe he’s just working with them, then,” Rex suggests. “Maybe he’s their figurehead.”

Cody scrubs at his face. “It could be,” he allows. “I don’t know. He seems to have a lot of control to be just a figurehead.”

For all of the exhaustion in his eyes, there’s still a burning spark of frustration, some puzzle piece he can’t make fit. “What is it?” Rex asks.

“Why would he commission an army for the Republic? Why have us made? Why put a chip in our heads? If he was a Separatist, why didn’t he just attack them head-on while their defenses were down?” Cody scowls. “Why even bother starting a war?”

If it’s the Jedi he’s after, why not target them directly? The question burns in the back of Rex’s mind every time he closes his eyes. He doesn’t think about it long: he can’t – can’t bear the thought that he might have put brother after brother in the ground for nothing.

He knows they were built to be fodder. He just never thought they would be fodder for a fabricated war.

“It would help if I could tell Kenobi,” Cody says tiredly. “I don’t feel confident making an assessment about something I can’t see or feel. It’s all just speculation.”

“Isn’t that all the Jedi would do if we told them?” Rex asks.

Cody quirks an eyebrow.

“If I tell General Skywalker about this, he’ll shut it down. He’s close with the Chancellor,” Rex says. Fives, screaming, terrified. _You’ve gone too far_. Fives, gasping for breath in his arms. “If you tell General Kenobi, he will inevitably tell General Skywalker and then we’ll be in the same spot.”

“If I asked him to keep it quiet—”

“Skywalker will know,” Rex says firmly. “Kenobi barely managed to fake his death for a few days before Skywalker figured it out. They’re too close.”

Cody drops his head into his hands.

“What?”

“ _Shabla_ Force,” Cody grumbles.

“What do you mean?” Rex asks. There’s anxiety ticking in his tone, pounding in his chest. “Cody?”

“If I start hiding things, Kenobi is going to know something is off,” Cody says, voice muffled.

“ _How?_ ”

Cody looks up at that, but it’s only to make an exasperated face. “Might be my turn to sound like the crazy one,” he mutters.

“If you think you can top the story I just told, go for it,” Rex says.

The hint of humor seems to set Cody at ease. His shoulders relax. He takes a slow breath.

“Skywalker,” Cody says. “He knows when Kenobi’s in trouble because they’re connected through the Force. They have a bond.”

“What does that have to do with you?”

“After Christophsis,” Cody says, “I went to Kenobi with some suggestions for improving the Two-Hundred-Twelfth’s efficiency on the battlefield. We’d been losing a lot of men and I wanted to minimize our casualties. He brought up a Jedi technique he’d been studying and practicing.”

Rex tilts his head. Cody frowns, searching for words. “It’s called battle meditation,” he says haltingly. “The Jedi reaches out into the Force and finds the minds of their soldiers and wills them the confidence and calm they need to temper their adrenaline. When applied on a large scale, it forms a connection between every man on the battlefield. They’re all perfectly in tune with one another. There’s no uncertainty. There’s no miscommunication. They move as one unit.”

“Sounds impressive.”

“It is.” Cody’s eyes are dark and faraway. “We’ve cut our average casualties by more than half since we started using it.”

Rex waits a beat. Then he reaches out and squeezes Cody’s wrist.

“The bond that forms,” Cody says, like he’s been startled out of a trance, “it’s supposed to go away after the battle meditation ends. And in the beginning, it did.”

The gravity of Cody’s suggestion takes a moment to sink in. “Are you telling me you have a Force-bond with General Kenobi?” Rex asks.

Cody doesn’t look at him. His jaw twitches. “It started sticking around after the battle was over,” he says. “At first I thought it was just the stress. Post-battle operations are hectic. We have to move the wounded to medical. We have to get the gunships cleared out. We have to check on the men – make sure the shinies aren’t too shaken up. So I thought, maybe Kenobi’s so used to it being in place that he just forgot to cut it off.”

“But he didn’t forget.”

“I didn’t ask him,” Cody says. “It always went away eventually. It just started taking longer to fade. Hours. Then days. Once, a week. Now, never.”

“What changed?”

Cody shrugs helplessly. “I took a hit,” he says. He rolls his eyes at Rex’s look. “Years ago, Rex. You remember when I was laid up for two months.”

“I remember you drove Sol crazy trying to leave every day.”

“Yeah. Well, if Kenobi hadn’t been there with me, I would be dead,” Cody says. “I was pretty far gone by the time they found me. And Kenobi just looked me in the eyes and said it was all going to be all right. I mean, I didn’t believe him, but what was I gonna say? I couldn’t even breathe.”

Rex has seen Anakin do the same – has watched him hold the hand of a man who’s been hurt so badly even the Force can’t save him and tell him it was going to be okay. The troopers that died like that didn’t know him well enough to know he was lying.

Rex has always seen that as a small mercy.

“I’m okay, Rex,” Cody reminds irritably, and Rex shakes off the ghosts.

“Right,” he says. “So that’s – almost dying. That’s what solidified the bond?”

“Yeah. He healed me enough to survive,” Cody says. He sounds like, in some separated way, he still can’t believe it. “When I woke up in the medbay two days later, he was there. He told me he should have mentioned it sooner, he just hadn’t realized it was happening because I’m – I’m not a Force-sensitive.”

“Then how is it even possible?”

Cody holds his hands up in front of him. It’s eerily similar to the way Kenobi and Skywalker and Ahsoka sit when they’re meditating. “Kenobi said the Force is part of every living thing,” Cody says, like he’s repeating a mantra. “That it binds the entire galaxy together. I guess that makes it possible. Rare. Maybe unheard of. But possible.”

“Can’t he just cut it off?”

Cody smiles ruefully. “That was my first question,” he says grimly. “No. He said at this point severing it would hurt both of us more than it would help. The best he can do is damp it.”

“So you just walk around with Kenobi in your head all day?” Rex blinks dubiously. If he had to listen to Skywalker, in his mind, every day, all day, he’d lose whatever scraps of sanity he still has left.

Cody shakes his head. “It’s not like that,” he says. “There are no thoughts. I just get flashes of feelings. I know proximity. Moods. Stress. Worry. Fatigue. I know if there’s danger or if he’s been injured. The bond’s great for having a reason to haul his _jetii_ _shebs_ to the medical bay after a mission, Rex, don’t get me wrong. It’s just…not so great when we’re planning to commit high treason.”

Rex blows out a breath. “ _Osik_ , Codes.”

“I know,” Cody says. There’s exhaustion in his eyes. “I’ll have to find a way to work around it.”

“If I’d known—”

“You wouldn’t have said anything about the chips to me and run yourself into the ground trying to save the entire army by yourself,” Cody says sternly.

“The last thing we need is Kenobi watching our every move.”

“I’ll come up with something,” Cody says. “The war’s reason enough to want to withdraw. I’ll keep to myself. I’ll just have to be smart about when and how I do it.”

There’s a sharp rap on the door. “Commander?”

Rex almost jumps out of his skin. “Speak of the devil,” Cody says under his breath, but Rex gets the sense he’s not really surprised. He gets up gingerly, takes a moment to steady himself, and then walks to the door.

“Anakin’s been looking for the Captain,” Kenobi says. His voice is soft. It’s late: the rest of the ship is run by a skeleton crew at this hour; most of the off-duty men are asleep. “He’s very worried. He’s been meaning to speak with him, but Rex isn’t answering his comm.”

“I’ve got him, sir,” Cody says. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “He’s all right. Just resting.”

“You should be doing some of that yourself, Commander. Sol told me you never reported to the medical bay.”

Cody hesitates. Kenobi’s smile is warm. “Don’t push yourself too far past your limits, Cody,” he says. “Your men need you.”

“I know, sir,” Cody says. It’s quiet for a long moment. “If there’s nothing else—”

Over Cody’s shoulder, Rex can see Kenobi’s eyebrows crease with concern. “Are you all right?” he asks quietly. “I swore to you I would damp the bond, and I have, it’s just I’m still getting this overwhelming sense of—”

“I’m all right, General. It’s just been a long few months.”

“You’re very anxious,” Obi-Wan says.

“Long few months,” Cody repeats shortly. “If there’s nothing else, sir?”

Kenobi studies him for a beat. “No, Cody,” he says, and Rex suddenly remembers how to breathe. “That’s all.”

The door hisses shut.

“That was being smart about it?” Rex asks dryly.

Cody glowers and whips a pillow at him. “I have to be up in five hours to run over some logistics with Sol,” he says, and stabs a finger at his own face. “If I show up looking like this, he’s going to sedate me and lock me down until next century. So either shut up and get some sleep, or get back to your own quarters.”

His own quarters are a long walk away. Too empty. Too quiet. Kix won’t let him back in the medbay again, either.

“I’ll stay,” Rex says, and climbs in beside Cody, tucked so they’re pressed back-to-back. The bed’s not made for two, but neither were the berths on Kamino and their _vode_ always found a way to make that work without much issue.

“Goodnight, _vod’ika_ ,” Cody says. His voice is already heavy with sleep.

Rex cracks a small smile. This time, it doesn’t hurt. With Cody at his back, a warm and comforting weight, the ache is his chest eases. Rex lets himself relax.

For the first time since he died, there are no nightmares of Fives.

\--


	8. Echoes and ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bad Batch plots against Protocol 66.
> 
> Fives needs to find Fox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: brief description of a panic-attack-like reaction

“I hate recon.”

“Please shut up,” Crosshair says flatly.

Wrecker grumbles something unintelligible under his breath but he doesn’t say anything else, just brushes by Echo on his way out of the gear room, so Echo guesses it’s probably a win in Crosshair’s book.

“He’s been going on like that for the last two hours,” Crosshair says crisply. He’s hunched over a table, calibrating his DC-17. It’s a commando weapon, like their blades. Not for the first time, Echo marvels at it. “He doesn’t like to do things quiet.”

“I remember.”

Crosshair glances up at him. His face is placid – unreadable. “Are you up for this?” he asks.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Echo shoots back. It sounds more defensive than he means it to. He clears his throat. “Of course I’m ready.”

Crosshair straightens and turns to face him. He doesn’t speak for a long moment, studying him with that calm, pensive stare. “Healthy adult human males need between seven and nine hours of sleep per night to operate at their most efficient.”

“You sound like Tech.”

“He’s the one that told me,” Crosshair says. Echo wonders how many times. “He’s also the one that told me you are not getting that.”

Echo might have his own room but he’s sure the nightmare sounds carry. More than once he’s heard bare feet slap down the hall, pad up to his door, and stop – and wait – and listen – and go. He knows by the gait that most of the time it’s Hunter. Sometimes it’s Tech. Never Wrecker – he sleeps too soundly. Crosshair is the hardest to detect, but he’s there as often as and much longer than Hunter: a silent presence standing sentinel.

Echo finds it comforting.

“I need to know you’ll be clearheaded,” Crosshair says.

“I am.”

“Not if you’re not sleeping.”

“I fought a war on less.”

“This is not the kind of war you’re used to,” Crosshair tilts his head at him. “We need every advantage.”

Echo stares back. Remembers the cold pod. Remembers falling and Rex and then feeling warm again for the first time in forever. “I’ll be fine,” he says. “I’ve been through worse.”

Crosshair’s gaze doesn’t waver.

Echo shrugs.

“You don’t know how to let Fives go.”

It’s not a question. Echo stares at him blankly. “I have let go,” he says quickly. “I know he’s gone.”

“Knowing he’s dead isn’t the same as accepting it.”

“I have accepted it. I just…”

Crosshair’s eyes are patient: there’s no irritation, just simple calm. Waiting.

“It’s like there’s a piece of me missing,” Echo says hoarsely. His hand goes to his heart. “I don’t feel right.”

“You went through a massive trauma and you woke up to your brother dead.”

He doesn’t finish the thought, but like so many things with Crosshair, the rest is implied: _that would hit anyone hard_.

That’s what Tech said, too. Echo knows. He asked. And for a while, he believed it. But the ache hasn’t eased. It hasn’t gone away. He’s starting to think it never will.

“I never had to ask Rex if Fives was dead,” Echo says, muted. “I just knew.”

Crosshair eases to perch on the assembly table, propping one foot up, pulling his knee to his chest, and wrapping his arms around it. He pats the space at his side; Echo joins him.

“He wasn’t there when you woke up,” Crosshair says, like that explains everything.

Echo grimaces. He’s thought of that himself; he spent the hours that Kix wasn’t fussing over him staring at the ceiling and trying to puzzle out the missing piece: if Fives had been alive and with the 501st, he would have been by Echo’s side. Of course he would have and of course he wasn’t, so of course Echo would have known he was gone.

Of course that would explain how he knew.

“That’s not it,” Echo almost croaks.

Crosshair tilts his head at him.

“When I was in stasis,” Echo says slowly, “I – I think I felt it. I felt him die.”

“That’s not possible.”

“That’s what I thought.” He swallows against the lump in his throat. “I thought I was delirious. I thought it was a nightmare. The machine messing with my head. And then you all brought me back and I felt it again. It hit me so hard it made me sick.”

“You’d been in stasis for months. You had to readjust.”

“It was more than that,” Echo says. He clutches both hands over his chest; his heart pounds, pounds. “There’s this piece of me _missing_.”

Crosshair’s eyes are kind. “That’s grief,” he says gently. His hand finds Echo’s wrist and he squeezes, once, and holds.

_That’s not it_ , Echo wants to say again, but he doesn’t have any more words for the pain. It’s lonely and desperate and gnawing, a loss he feels in his soul. There’s a ragged void where Fives should be.

It’s deeper than just grief and he doesn’t know what that means.

“Thank you,” Echo says at last. “For standing guard on the bad nights.”

Crosshair snorts softly. “Hunter asked me to.”

Echo quirks a small smile and shoves his shoulder. “Of course, Cross,” he says. “Sure he did.”

There’s a light flush to Crosshair’s cheeks. “We should get geared up,” he says, and for all of his efforts to disguise it, Echo still catches the smile in his eyes. “Hunter wants us up top in fifteen to run over the plan again.”

“You mean the one Wrecker’s gonna complain through?”

“You catch on quick, reg.”

Hunter keeps the briefing short and to the point: they’ll conduct surveillance on the Chancellor’s office for two days after their arrival, learning the routines and habits of the guards assigned to the location. The Chancellor won’t be there at night, so the security won’t be as heavy. The goal is to determine when the location will be at its most vulnerable so they can get in and determine whether Palpatine keeps the trigger on him or hidden somewhere in his office.

“Do we have a contingency for the less desirable option?” Tech asks. He fidgets with his goggles. “I’ll be the first to admit I hope it never comes to it, but if it does, do we have a plan?”

“If we have to shoot him, we’ll shoot him,” Crosshair says. “No Chancellor, no galactic genocide.”

Hunter sighs. “No,” he says. “We haven’t drawn that plan up yet.”

“Are we gonna get to blow something up this time?” Wrecker asks.

“Not this time around, Wrecker.”

“You didn’t give Echo a role,” Tech points out. He tilts his head curiously. “He is coming with us?”

“Echo’s on a different mission,” Hunter says. “It will be his job to make contact with Commander Fox, determine his trustworthiness, and if possible, bring him onboard.”

Tech shifts from one foot to the other, once, twice, again. “That’s a lot to ask of anyone’s belief,” he says, humming anxiety, “let alone the Commander of the Coruscant Guard. He works with the Chancellor personally.

“Rex believes he can be trusted,” Echo cuts in. “And if Rex says it, I believe it.”

Tech nods, short and snapping. “I need to get back to my lab,” he says. “I’ve isolated some of the commands on our chips but I haven’t identified the specific directive that malfunctioned in trooper Tup.”

“Just turn everything off,” Wrecker says. “If he put it in our heads to make us kill Jedi, anything else that’s on there has to be just as bad.”

“It’s not that – I’ll be in my lab,” Tech says quickly, and rushes out the hatch.

“Did I say something wrong?” Echo asks, studying their faces. None of them are looking at him with anything like pity or concern, but none of them are talking either.

“He’s just worried ‘bout you,” Wrecker says, one awkward silence later.

“He doesn’t think I can do my job?”

“It’s not that,” Hunter intercedes smoothly. “It’s that you’re going alone and he doesn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“It won’t.”

“If it does,” Hunter says, and holds up a hand to stop any protestations before they can start. “If it does, we will come get you. We don’t leave anyone behind. You understand?”

There’s warmth in his gaze. Echo manages a small smile.

“I understand.”

* * *

Ventress hasn’t come out of the cockpit since she set their course.

Fives checks his chrono. It’s been six hours. He’s done nothing except sit here with his blaster in his lap trying not to doze off. There’d be no point in sleeping if he was just going to wake up long enough to register a lightsaber cleaving through his spine.

“The hell are you doing in there?” Fives mutters, setting his helmet aside and getting slowly to his feet. His legs cramp painfully and he chuffs a breath. Should have moved around a bit more.

“What do you want?” Ventress asks, before he’s even broken the threshold. The cockpit is dark, illuminated only by a glowing blue light coming from somewhere in front of her, out of Fives’ sight.

He dares a step more into the room. The air is alive, humming, buzzing; if he strains, it almost sounds like a voice speaking a strange tongue too fast for anyone to understand. Fives winces and shakes his head.

“I opened it,” Ventress says simply. It’s only then he notices the source of the light: the cube has been deconstructed. It tugs at his chest; he wants to reach out and touch it.

He is reaching out to touch it.

Fives yanks his hand back like he’s been burned. “ _Shab_ ,” he hisses. “What is that thing?”

“A holocron,” Ventress says. Her helmet is on the console. She tilts her head at him curiously and narrows her eyes, like she’s studying him. Fives tenses. “The Jedi and the Sith use them to guard their most treasured secrets.”

“What’s on that one?” Fives asks. She hasn’t so much as glanced away; the piercing blue gaze makes his skin crawl. Fives folds his arms over his chest and juts his chin at her pack. “Something to do with the lightsabers?”

Ventress idly follows his gaze. “Yes,” she says calmly.

Fives raises his eyebrows. “ _Yes?_ ”

“Why don’t you take a look at it yourself?” Ventress says. With a wave of her hand, the cube reassembles itself. Fives looks from her to the cube and back again. Really.

Only Force-users can open a holocron.

Fives stares at her. She sighs long-sufferingly. With a few motions, the box clicks apart again. A hologram flickers to life. The woman is older, kneeling, and clad in Jedi robes. There’s a dual-bladed lightsaber clipped to her belt that looks a lot like the one they found in the store room. Beside her is another figure in a dark cloak and wearing a Mandalorian helmet. Two lightsabers hang from their belt.

“Bastila Shan,” Ventress says, with a wave to the woman. “Though I don’t expect you to know who that is.”

“A Jedi?”

She blinks, once. “How astute,” she says. “Yes. A Jedi. One of the most powerful to serve the Old Republic’s Order and perhaps the most powerful Jedi Sentinel in living memory.”

“Is there a difference?”

“What?”

Fives hesitates. There’s no malice to her expression, only genuine curiosity. “Between a Sentinel and any other kind of Jedi,” he hedges. The infernal buzzing is back; maybe there’s something wrong with the holocron: maybe it was damaged and whatever wiring it has is corrupted.

He can’t get the whispering voice out of his head.

Ventress waves a hand at the copilot’s seat. Fives doesn’t move. “Please,” she says, “if I wanted you dead, I would have killed you on Raxus.”

He sits down gingerly, suddenly conscious of how much colder it is in the cockpit than the hold. The smuggler’s gear Fox furnished him with functions well enough as light, maneuverable armor, but it might as well be civilian attire with some extra blast resistance: it doesn’t have the same insulation or temperature regulation the ARC kit does.

If Ventress notices him shivering, she doesn’t mention it. “Sentinels are seekers,” she says. “If you translate the oldest texts, the actual term is ‘hunter of truth.’ They’re one of three ancient Jedi classes. It’s something the current Order has done away with, of course. They don’t like their divisions.”

“How does a Sith know so much Jedi history?”

“The better you understand your enemy, the easier it is to destroy them.”

“That’s it, huh?”

“I wasn’t always this.” Her eyes are faraway; she looks past him, staring into the fields of stars streaking by on the viewscreen like she’s trying to see somewhere far away, long ago.

Fives thinks of Rishi and all the time after, of lying awake staring at the bottom of Echo’s bunk and talking until the sun came up. Thinks of the Citadel, and how lonely and quiet the barracks was when he came back alone, thinks of curling up on Echo’s bunk and trying to breathe. Thinks of Tup – so confused, so afraid – _it’ll be okay, it’ll be okay_ – when just a day before he’d been doubled over laughing at one of Jesse’s jokes. Thinks of Rex – _stay with me, stay with me, Fives_ – and the dark shadows the war has shaded beneath his eyes.

And for a beat, he wonders what Ventress sees.

Fives wraps his arms around himself and tries not to shake. “I know the feeling.”

“And here I thought we had no common ground.”

He scoffs at that. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“Coruscant.”

“Is that where your algorithm is?”

“That’s where my contacts are,” Ventress says.

“If they know where the chip is, why don’t they just tell you?”

“This has nothing to do with the chip.” Ventress rolls her neck; it cracks unsettlingly.

Then it hits.

“Then what _does_ it have to do with?”

“You said your Chancellor is a Sith,” Ventress says. “If you’re right, then my priorities have changed.”

“Why would you help me?”

She turns to him with eyes like ice. “You’re not the only one who’s been betrayed,” she says. “I have my reasons. And you don’t look like you can afford to refuse the help.”

“Why believe me?” Fives asks.

Ventress snorts softly. “These are strange times,” she says, like she knows something he doesn’t. There’s an aura to her voice he wouldn’t know how to put into words, the same tingling sense he’d get when Skywalker and Tano exchanged a look and he knew the mission was about to go straight to hell. Cryptic. Ominous. Unexplainable.

_Shabla_ Force.

The holocron’s buzzing spikes – louder, louder, a thrum rippling across his eardrums and through his brain. It feels like his head is vibrating from the inside out. “What’s on that thing?” Fives asks, doing his best not to flinch.

Ventress glances at the holocron, at Fives, and back. “Bastila and Revan’s teachings,” she says.

Revan must be the other figure. “The helmet is Mandalorian,” Fives says. “Why would a Jedi have Mandalorian kit?”

“That is a very long story.”

He shrugs. “It’s going to be a very long trip.”

For a beat, Fives is sure she’s ignoring him. For a beat, she doesn’t speak. She passes her hand over the holocron to seal it; the buzzing goes blissfully silent.

Then Ventress tells him about Revan and the Mandalorian Wars – about how Revan took up the helm of a Mandalorian woman slain for standing against genocide, how she swore a vow of vengeance and went against word and bond to beat the Mandalorians back. How she began with her feet planted firmly in the light and how the war tore at her until its seeping black sickness wound its way into her soul, how she raised her chin high and marched into the dark and came back to rule as a Sith instead of serve as a Jedi. How the Council dispatched a team to destroy her and how, of that team, only the Sentinel Bastila survived. How she saved Revan from certain death and how that salvation forged a Force bond that stretched across the stars. How the Council took Revan’s memories. How Revan was reborn. How Revan lost herself and found her darkness and chose the light.

“And in the end,” Ventress says, “she destroyed the Star Forge and they heralded her as a hero again. Do we call that redemption?”

Fives starts. Dimly, he realizes he’s been sitting raptly for hours. He rubs at his neck. His hands, despite his gloves, are freezing. “I don’t know,” he says, and wonders if she really wants an answer. “What do you think?”

Ventress considers it for a moment. “We are who we make ourselves, trooper,” she says. “Betrayals aside.”

“ _ARC_ trooper. The name is Fives.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My name,” he says. “It’s Fives.”

“We’re past the point of introductions,” she says, “but at least now I’ll know who to blame the next time I hear an alarm.”

She turns back to the console. He pulls his knees up to his chest, wraps his arms around them, and drops his head down. The ship hums on through the silence.

At least he doesn’t have to worry about a lightsaber to the spine if he closes his eyes.

Fives sleeps.

He doesn’t dream.

* * *

Coruscant seems so much louder than he remembers.

Fives guesses it shouldn’t come as a surprise, given the company he’s been keeping for the last two weeks: Asajj Ventress isn’t the chatty type and he didn’t ask her to be. After he woke up, he spent most of his time in the hold calibrating his weapons, maintaining his helm, and whispering his remembrances.

In desperate need of allies or not, it’s still Ventress. Reformed, maybe. Different, definitely.

But still Ventress.

He shakes his head. She has the holocron open again, he knows; every time she cracks it, the buzzing comes back – and lately, it’s almost always buzzing. It sounds more like a voice now, a whisper on a distant wind he can’t quite make out but is too afraid to try.

Just old echoes and ancient ghosts.

“We’ll be landing soon.”

The first time she did that, he jumped out of his skin. Now, he just gives her a grudging glance over his shoulder.

There’s a lightsaber in her hand.

Fives turns slowly. It’s not one of her usual sabers; it’s the dual-bladed one from the box, the one that belonged to the Jedi Sentinel Bastila Shan. He spent the last week tinkering with and fussing over it until it thrummed a steady pale gold. He never thought he’d have the chance to learn the ins and outs of a Jedi weapon.

Echo’d be so jealous.

“Your repairs are impressive, given the materials you had to work with,” Ventress says.

“One day,” Fives says, “someone’s gonna teach you how to give a compliment that isn’t backhanded.”

She snorts. He just barely has time to catch the saber. “I don’t need five lightsabers,” she says. “This one might be of some use to you.”

He’s never fought with a lightsaber before. Well, that’s not completely true. He’s never fought an actual enemy with a lightsaber before. Skywalker and Tano spent a fair share of time letting them spar with the sabers set to sting instead of slice.

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

She shrugs. “It never hurts to have a backup plan,” she says.

“ _Ret’lini_ ,” Fives mutters. She blinks at him and disappears back into the cockpit. Maybe she doesn’t know Mando’a. Maybe she doesn’t care.

He’s pretty sure he’d be as good as dead if he found himself face-to-face with a Sith in single combat, but it might be enough to block a few blows and then get the hell out of there. Fives turns the hilt over in his hands and powers it on.

It feels right in his hands. Balanced. Soothing. Peaceful. He twirls it a few times.

He can just hear the _vwoom-vwoom_ noises Hevy would’ve made.

Fives smiles and stows the saber in his pack.

“I’ll meet my source,” Ventress says, once she’s set down on a pad in a less-than-savory sublevel of Coruscant, “and then I will contact you in a few days to establish a rendezvous point.”

“Right,” Fives says, hoisting his pack onto his shoulders and tightening the straps.

She arches an eyebrow elegantly. “And where is that you will be?”

“I told you already. I have my own contact I need to talk to.”

“You’re leaving your helmet and your body armor onboard?”

“Like you said, I’m a clone. Just another face in the crowd.”

“Not quite.” At his look, she taps her temple and looks him up and down. “A clone loose on the upper levels of Coruscant in civilian clothing. I’m sure you’ll draw no extra attention.”

Can’t really do anything permanent about the tattoo. Hair’s fine; he keeps it clipped. The clothes are another matter. “Don’t worry,” Fives says. “I won’t be in this for long. Besides, I have a hat.”

If she wants to know what that means, her face doesn’t show it. “Keep an eye on your communicator,” she says, raising her hood. Then she strides down the ramp and disappears into the crowd.

For half a second, he’s sure he’s made a grave mistake. For half a second, he can feel the crushing weight of Rex’s disappointment. Then he breathes, squares his shoulders, and tugs on his hat so it covers his tattoo.

He doesn’t trust Ventress any more than she trusts him but if working alongside her is what it takes to save his brothers, then that’s what it takes – whatever Rex would think of it aside.

Besides, she said she’d been betrayed, too – and vengeance is a hell of a motivator.

Fives makes his way to the upper levels, tucking himself into corners and keeping his face turned from cameras until he makes it to the GAR base. It’s on the same block as the Coruscant Guard’s headquarters.

And it’s got plenty of spare suits of armor.

Fives waits. It’s not long before a patrol returns and the gates to the base clatter open to grant them entrance.

Showtime.

Fives stumble-sprints after them, wobbling from side-to-side until he’s made it past the gates and into the courtyard. He can feel the guards’ eyes on him, but more importantly, he’s caught the attention of the nearest man in charge.

“Trooper! What the hell are you doing?’

“Little late getting back,” Fives slurs, slowly coming to a stop and holding his arms out to his sides like he’s about to lose his balance. “Was s’posed to be here hours ago but, eh…you know.”

He shrugs, more one shoulder than the other, and just keeps listing until one of the nearby clones gives him a little shove to keep him upright.

“Where’s your unit?” the officer demands. Now that he has the chance to look at his armor up close, Fives recognizes him as Thire. “Trooper, where’s your unit?”

Fives makes a helpless face. Thire stares at him for a long moment and then seems to decide that that’s the best he’s going to get for an answer. “Report in to your CO and then get back to your barracks and sleep it off,” he says. “Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” Fives snaps off a salute. Thire moves by. He doesn’t say it loudly, but Fives hears him anyway.

“Unbelievable.”

Fives moves carefully until he makes it to the barracks. The clones that occupy it must be out on patrol or otherwise occupied drilling in the courtyard under Thire’s watchful eye. It doesn’t take long to grab a spare suit of armor and slip outside with his helmet firmly in place and his civilian clothes tucked into his pack.

He looks like a shiny, but no one gives him a second glance when he leaves the base or when he walks into the Coruscant Guard’s headquarters. Fox lives and works here. It’s the best chance he has to catch him.

They really should’ve set up a better means of communication.

Fives bypasses the door lock to Fox’s quarters and ducks inside. The door hisses shut behind him. He flicks on the lights.

The place is impeccably neat: the bunk is perfectly made and the desk is tidy. He glances in the closet, curious, and finds that it’s equally well-kept.

Honestly, he should’ve expected no less.

Fives drops down into the desk chair and sets his helmet aside. There’s no way to tell when Fox was last here or when he might be back. If Fives is lucky, he’s not involved in some drawn out chase through Coruscant’s lowest and most dangerous levels, he’ll back sooner rather than later, and there won’t be any need to actually track him down.

He has a schedule to keep.

Fives has been sitting there all of ten minutes when he notices it: the corner of clothing sticking out of the side of the dresser’s top drawer. It’s something he’d easily overlook if this was Rex’s room, but it’s Fox’s – and everything else in the place is so immaculately clean.

There’s a sinking feeling in his chest.

The drawer clicks open with a wave of his hand. The fatigues are folded neatly, square corners and all.

It reminds him of Kamino.

“You know what else we had on Kamino?” Fives mutters, and pats at the back of the drawer until he feels a panel click. He fumbles around inside; his hand closes around a small scrap of flimsi.

There are two lines. Fives’ throat tightens.

_Alor._

_Ret’urcye mhi, ner’vod._

The Chancellor got to him. His blood runs cold. Fives stares at the note for a long beat and then hastily shoves it in his pack, closes the drawer, and pushes the desk chair in. The room should look exactly as it did when he stepped into it. It might be monitored.

They might be watching right now.

Fives replaces his helmet, takes one last look, and slips back out into the corridor. He looks just like everyone else, there’s no reason for anyone to stop him, let alone a reason for anyone to think he’s even still alive in the first place. He just has to go back the way he came, slip out the door, and make his way somewhere safe to figure it out.

Fives barely makes it two steps out of Fox’s room before he runs straight into a wall and goes sprawling.

No, not a wall. Another trooper. An ARC – though not with any armor configuration Fives has ever seen. The dual pauldron, the kama, and the helmet’s vertical stripes are the deep blue of the 501st, but the rest of his armor is crimson and dark gray. His right arm is mechanical from the elbow down, ending in a prosthetic hand that’s much more sophisticated than any of the standard-issue-GAR limb replacements.

On the right side of his chestplate is a royal blue handprint.

Fives can’t breathe.

The ARC tilts his head at him. “Sorry, trooper,” he says, crouching down to hold out a hand. “I didn’t see you there.”

Fives stares at him. There’s a sudden thrum in his mind, shooting down his spine and ripping through his veins like a shock that doesn’t cause any pain. Every nerve is on fire. There’s something familiar about the voice and all he can think is _Echo_ , but that’s ridiculous, there’s something familiar about every clone’s voice and Echo died months ago and he couldn’t have been the only soldier in the entire GAR that thought a handprint on the chestplate looked cool.

“I’m okay,” Fives says, easing to his feet on his own. It hurts to speak. “Sorry about that…sir.”

“Are you sure?”

He sounds so much like Echo. He even cocks his head to the side when he’s concerned. There’s a lump in Fives’ throat. Tears prick at his eyes. He blinks fiercely. “Yes,” Fives says quickly. His voice is hoarse. “I, uh, I have to go, sir. I’m – I’m late. Very late.”

The ARC doesn’t stop him from hurrying out of the base. Fives doesn’t stop to look behind or around.

As soon as he makes it to the back streets, safely out of sight, he runs. His chest burns. Every nerve ending screams. His vision is a blurry haze. Get out of here. Get back to the lower levels. Breathe. Breathe.

Just breathe.

He never sees the hit coming.

\--


	9. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trust is hard won.
> 
> Not every battle is a physical one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: descriptions of a panic attack/panic-attack-like reactions

One minute he’s flying down an empty street, and the next he’s on his back with his head spinning and the barrel of a DC-17 pointed squarely at his face.

Oh, _shab_.

Fives knocks the barrel away and rolls to the side before the weapon can discharge. He doesn’t get to his feet, scrambling instead for the durasteel shipping crates a few feet to his left. He makes it behind them, presses his back to one, and dares a peek around the corner.

It’s the ARC trooper from the base.

Fives swears under his breath. He probably saw him coming out of Fox’s quarters and thought he broke in and stole something. Should have checked. Should have been more careful.

Sloppy.

“I just want to talk,” the ARC calls. He’s not moving. He knows exactly where Fives is but he didn’t give chase, so he must want him alive. Maybe for the Chancellor? No, the Chancellor has no idea he’s not dead. Well, he will if Fives gets arrested. Can’t get arrested. Have to find Fox. Have to stop this – all of this.

Don’t get arrested.

The DC-17 is a commando weapon for a reason. It has a lot more attachments than the standard blaster. One of those is heavy ordinance; durasteel or not, the shipping crates can’t save him from that forever.

He’s laughably outgunned.

“Right!” Fives yells back, and immediately cringes. “Right. About, uh, what exactly?”

The ARC moves a step closer. Fives can hear the crunch of his boots on the gravel.

“What you were doing in the base,” the ARC says.

Don’t get arrested.

Fives carefully eases off his pack and wraps his hand around the lightsaber hilt. Not the time or place to use it; he has no intention of hurting the ARC: Coruscant Guard or not, he’s still a brother.

So much for _ret’lini_.

Fives replaces his pack, presses a hand to his faceplate for a beat, and wills the buzzing hum away. No time for thinking. No time for grief.

It’s not Echo. It’s not Echo. It’s not Echo.

Don’t get arrested.

It’s not Echo

“Please,” the ARC says. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just have some que—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Fives leaps out from behind the cover and sprays the ground in front of the ARC with stun bolts. Just get him to back up, make a run for it, duck into the alleyway, anything—

Fives takes one to the chest and hits the ground.

Can’t breathe, all fire, just breathe, _stay with me, Fives, don’t go, please_.

Can’t breathe.

Just breathe.

 _Fives, please_.

It takes him too long to realize he hasn’t actually been shot. The ARC is standing over him again; his DC-17 is slung across his back. “I hit you with a stun blast,” the ARC says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to do that. It’ll be a little easier to breathe in a minute, I promise.”

“Who—”

The ARC crouches down beside him. Fives makes a feeble attempt to swing at him. The ARC catches his wrist and gently sets it down. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says. “You hit your head when you dropped. Let me sit you up and make sure it’s not serious.”

“ _No_ ,” Fives croaks, but his limbs are slow, too slow, his head is spinning, and it’s too late. The ARC eases him so he’s sitting and lifts his helmet.

Then drops it immediately.

Fives tenses. The ARC doesn’t move.

“Fives?” he whispers.

The fire in his nerves is cooler now, soothing instead of electrifying, but no less intense for the difference. “Um…” Fives says. “I – no. No, I’m…”

The ARC almost rips off his own helmet. Fives stares at him. His skin is more ashen than most clones’, his face gaunter and more angular; there are dark shadows under his eyes. His hair is cropped close in the same classic style, but it’s slightly thinner in patches across his head, like it’s growing around or over something.

Fives would still know him anywhere.

“Echo,” Fives croaks. There are tears in his voice and threatening to spill down his cheeks and it’s so stupid, there’s so much he wants to say, but all he can manage is: “You died.”

“So did you,” Echo points out numbly. He sits down next to Fives, though Fives isn’t sure he had much choice in the matter.

In the fading light of the setting sun, he doesn’t look overjoyed; he looks lost.

“Yeah,” Fives says. Not dead. Not dead. Not dead. It rings in his chest. “I did. My heart stopped.”

Echo’s eyes blow wide. Well, wider than they already are. When did he get so thin? “Long story,” Fives says, trying to quirk a smile. He shoves Echo’s shoulder gently. “Tell you later?”

“I didn’t die.”

“What?”

“At the Citadel,” Echo says. He clears his throat roughly. “I didn’t die. So really, it’s only you that’s been dead.”

Fives freezes. His smile loses all its mirth. His gut twists; his chest aches. Left him for dead. Left him behind. _What did they do to you?_

“I guess I one-upped you, then,” Fives says, strained. He tugs on his helmet. Echo tries to smile.

“We should get moving. It’s not safe out here,” Echo says abruptly, getting to his feet. He offers Fives a hand and pulls him upright too. “There’s not much light left and, if I recall correctly, shiny kit has terrible nightvision.”

“Hey, I’m still an ARC. I just – don’t have the armor on me right now.”

Echo’s already replaced his helmet so Fives can’t see the infernal smirk; he knows it’s there. He should be annoyed, should want to shove Echo and scowl, but all he can feel is wave after wave of relief. No more ticking thrum. Just peace.

“I need to rendezvous with my team,” Echo says, “and you’re coming with me.”

Team. _Fives, please_. “Rex?” Fives asks, a little too hopefully.

Echo shakes his head. “No,” he says, and doesn’t elaborate. Fives bites back the urge to ask him to. Echo leads them through the alleys to a speeder parked a block away from the base.

The second they’re both secure, he guns it.

Fives hangs on for dear life. By the time they make it to a landing platform, Fives can feel his teeth chattering. When he leaps out of the speeder, his legs wobble.

“When did you forget how to drive?” he demands. Echo cocks his head at him curiously.

“I drive fine,” he says. “What are you talking about?”

Fives stares at him incredulously. “Come on,” Echo says, tugging on his arm. There’s suddenly an undercurrent of excitement to his voice. “You have to meet my team.”

Fives pulls back. “Hang on,” he says. “Who are these guys, exactly?”

“Long story.”

“Echo, I’m supposed to be dead. I need to keep it that way.”

“Rex told me,” Echo says. “About everything. I know, Fives.”

Fives stares at him dubiously. “Rex told you,” he repeats slowly, and lets Echo lead him up the ramp and onto the ship. Warmth blooms in his chest. “He believed me?”

Echo tucks his helmet under his arm. “Of course Rex believed you,” he says. “It’s Rex.”

The shiny helmet feels so much lighter and easier to crack than his ARC kit, especially when he’s holding it so tightly. Fives blinks rapidly. “Yeah,” he says. “I, uh, I didn’t tell him I’m still alive. I need to tell him. I just – I didn’t know if he’d believe me.”

Echo’s eyes are kind. He squeezes Fives’ shoulder. “I have an encrypted line set up,” he says. “I’m due to contact him at 2200. We’ll tell him then. For now, follow me.”

The ship is small. Echo calls it the _Havoc Marauder_ , which Fives snorts at. “The others are up top. Wait here a minute,” Echo says, and clambers up through the hatch. There’s a long, dead silence. Then the hatch snaps open again and Fives is face-to-face with the barrel of a DC-17.

This is getting old.

Fives stumbles back. “You look very alive for a dead man,” the man says. His face is long and thin; he’s tattooed a crosshair around his eye. Fives makes a face.

“Crosshair!” Echo snaps, somewhere out of sight. “He’s my brother. Put that away.”

“Fives is dead,” Crosshair says coolly. His aim doesn’t waver. “Whoever this clone is, he’s not CT-5555.”

“Trust me,” Echo says. “All right?”

The DC-17 slowly lowers. “Come on up, Fives,” Echo calls, and Fives hesitates and then painstakingly scales the ladder.

The second his head breaks the threshold, he’s airborne. His helmet goes flying. Fives flails and kicks at his assailant, but it’s to no avail: the guy’s a mountain with legs.

And he’s holding Fives up by the collar of his bodysuit.

“You’re s’posed to be dead,” the mountain growls.

“Put him down,” Echo says, but he’s fighting back a grin. Fives sighs and stops struggling.

“Look, how do you want me to prove it to you?” he asks.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” Echo says impatiently. “Wrecker, put him down.”

Wrecker holds him up to eye level. Fives scowls. “Echo,” he says without breaking eye contact, “who are these people?”

“My team,” Echo says. He blows out a breath. “Wrecker, please.”

Wrecker drops him. Fives staggers and finds Echo’s suddenly beside him, steadying him until he can get his feet. “Thanks,” he says.

“You’re welcome,” says Wrecker.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Fives growls. Echo stiffens. Fives finds his wrist and squeezes, twice.

It’s an old gesture, but time and death haven’t diminished its meaning. The tension in Echo’s shoulders eases. “Fives,” Echo says, “this is my team. Wrecker, Tech, Hunter, Crosshair: this is Fives.”

“Are you sure?” Tech asks.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“We’re trying to take down the most powerful man in the Republic and suddenly your friend is back from the dead,” Crosshair says. He has a toothpick clenched between his teeth. His arms are folded. He narrows his eyes. “It’s a little convenient.”

“He’s the one that attacked _me_ ,” Fives says dryly.

“‘Attacked you.’ I knocked you on your _shebs_ ,” Echo says under his breath. Fives elbows him. Echo elbows him back.

Hunter must be the leader: he has the same dead look in his eyes as Commander Cody. “Echo,” Hunter says at last, “a word.”

Echo hesitates. Fives squeezes his wrist again – _I’m okay_ – and Echo follows Hunter down the hatch.

The second it swings shut, the other three turn.

“If you are who you say you are, then how are you alive?” Tech asks. His tone is calm, but there’s a hard note behind every word. “By all official reports and documentation, you were shot by Commander Fox and died in a warehouse here on Coruscant.”

“Long story,” Fives says. Anxiety ticks in his chest. Fox. They have to find Fox. The Chancellor got to Fox. “Not your business.”

“It’s about Echo. ‘Course it’s our business,” Wrecker says. He takes a step closer. “What are you doing here?”

Fives raises his chin and stares him straight in the eyes, conscious of Tech and Crosshair moving in to complete the half-circle Wrecker started. It’s not a large ship; with the way they’ve positioned themselves, he’s already effectively cornered. The hatch is closed; if they decide to jump him, he won’t have time to open it.

“Why are you back now? How did you know where Echo was going to be?” Tech asks. “What do you want?”

“To save my brothers,” Fives shoots back.

“You didn’t save Echo.”

It comes from Crosshair. Fives feels like all of the air has been knocked out of his lungs. Fire. Trapped. _We have to go_. Not Echo. Not Echo. Not Echo. Fives open his mouth to speak and nothing comes out; he can’t form the words.

“You left him behind,” Crosshair says. “And for months after he joined this crew, he woke up screaming – for you.”

“I didn’t want to leave him,” Fives manages. It comes out like a croak. “I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t even look for him.”

“I thought he was dead,” Fives barks. Rage wells in his chest, ripping, roiling, red. “I never would have left him if I’d known. I _never_ —”

“But you did,” Crosshair says coolly. He tilts his head to the side. His gaze is unrelenting.

Fives’ throat is tight. He can barely see past the crimson haze. “You abandoned him,” Crosshair hisses. “Why come back now?”

He doesn’t get to say anything else; Fives’ fist connects with his jaw and he stumbles back.

There’s only one free shot in this fight.

Fives ducks the punch Wrecker throws and takes Tech’s blow full-on. It knocks him to his knees; he manages to roll just enough to dodge Crosshair’s uppercut and stagger to his feet.

Three on one, and one of them is a tank. Not good odds.

Wrecker’s first swing missed. The second doesn’t. Fives careens into the wall with a _crack_ and then hits the floor hard.

When he lifts his head, he can’t see straight and it’s not because of the pain.

_You didn’t save Echo._

Fives snarls, swiping at the blood streaming from his nose. Their half-circle constricts, closer, closer.

 _You didn’t save Echo_.

Heat and flame, grief and rage. _We_ _have to go. We have to go._

 _You didn’t save Echo_.

He can’t see. He can’t see. The world is fire and wrath and seething sorrow. Now you see what no one will ever believe. Sickness and disease. Can’t breathe. Just breathe. Fives, please. Good luck. Stay safe. Look out. Too late.

_You didn’t save Echo._

Fives lunges to his feet with a ragged scream and locks his arms in front of his skull to block the blows.

He can’t breathe.

It strikes like a shockwave. At first he’s sure he’s taken a hit so hard it made his brain shake but the ground is roiling beneath him and the wind is rushing and something shatters like glass and no one’s touched him but every nerve is on fire. He can’t see. He can’t see. It’s all fury, pulsing in his veins, rippling down his spine, beating in his brain. The thrum in his mind becomes a whine becomes a scream.

He can’t breathe.

“Fives!”

A pair of hands lands on his shoulders. Fives starts violently. The world snaps back into focus.

The viewscreen and all the windows surrounding it have been blown out. The panels are sparking. Wrecker and Tech and Crosshair are scattered around the control room and just barely starting to sit up. Fives numbly lowers his arms to his sides. He’s breathing hard.

“Fives?” Echo says, and shakes him lightly. “Fives!”

He jolts. Dimly, he realizes he’s trembling. Hunter’s rushed forward to check on the others. They’re all getting up. They’re all alive.

“Fives, what the hell was that?” Echo demands. “Fives!”

He can’t speak. His legs are shaking; he can’t stand. Fives sinks to his knees.

The force in his mind beats in time with his racing heart, a steady thrum, a constant buzz. He feels it in the air, on his skin, in his brain. He wants to claw at his head until it stops, until he’s no longer a conduit for the current, until the power pulsing through his veins fades away.

“I don’t know,” Fives whispers. There are tears on his face. “I don’t know.”

* * *

It takes him a long time to stand back up.

When he finally manages it, Echo loops an arm around his shoulders and guides him below-deck. They make their slow way down a corridor to a corner room that looks like a converted storage closet. Echo doesn’t say anything or ask him any questions; he just stows his armor and then helps Fives out of his.

Usually he’d slap at the prying hands. Right now, he’s too numb to care. Fives sits on the edge of the bed and fumbles with clasp after clasp until Echo takes over entirely. When he finishes, he makes a neat stack of the plates in a corner.

“Are you hungry?”

Echo’s staring at him with big eyes. “Why are you so thin?” Fives asks blankly.

Echo’s gaze shutters. “Are you hungry?” he asks again. “When was the last time you ate?”

He’s been living off ration bars and some weird complete nutrition cubes he found onboard the ship he stole. Ventress didn’t have much better but at least she let him raid her stores. _If I let you starve, I’ll have a corpse to dispose of._

“No,” Fives says. He shivers. The bodysuit’s supposed to be insulated. He shouldn’t be cold.

Echo sighs and sits down beside him on the bed. He folds his hands in his lap and hunches over them. For a moment, it’s silent. Up above, there’s clattering and calls for tools; the others are rushing around repairing the damage to the _Havoc Marauder_.

Damage he caused.

“Is everyone okay?” Fives asks mutedly.

Echo nods.

“I’m sorry.”

He can feel Echo’s eyes boring into the side of his head. Fives turns to meet them. “What was that up there, Fives?” Echo asks quietly. “Talk to me.”

“I left you behind,” Fives blurts, instead of answering. His voice cracks.

“Don’t do that. You didn’t know.”

“He said you were screaming for me,” Fives chokes. It was all so fast and loud. “After – the shuttle. He said you were screaming for me. And I just _left you_.”

Echo’s hand finds his and squeezes. Fives is shaking. He can’t stop shaking. “Don’t do that,” Echo says again. “You had to go.”

“I should have come back,” Fives says, faster and faster until he’s rambling. “I should have come back for you. I’m sorry, Echo. I’m sorry. I should have come back. I’m sorry. I’m—”

“Fives,” Echo says firmly. Fives snaps his mouth shut. His eyes burn and he swipes at them with his free hand. “Fives, it’s not your fault. You didn’t know and even if you had, you never would have made it across that platform to me while the cannon was still active. They’d have blasted you.”

“I left you behind,” Fives croaks. He can’t breathe right.

Echo wraps his arms around him and pulls him close. Fives curls against him and squeezes him tight. His hands brush across something hard and metallic beneath Echo’s bodysuit, a ridge that seems to run the length of his spine. Echo stiffens and Fives mumbles, “Sorry,” and doesn’t touch it again. Doesn’t ask what happened to him. Doesn’t ask what the Separatists did to him. Doesn’t ask what he could have, should have, didn’t save him from.

Echo’s face is buried against his shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re alive,” he says, muffled. “I missed you, _ner’vod_.”

“I missed you too,” Fives says, and for a long while, neither of them moves.

When Echo does finally shift to pull away, Fives has to make himself let go.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Echo says. He scoots closer, so their shoulders are pressed together.

Warm. Safe. Real. Here. Some of the tension in Fives’ chest eases. “I don’t know,” Fives says.

“Do you know what it looked like?”

He knows it felt like rage. Like everything inside him was going to break. Fives tilts his head.

“You remember when General Skywalker would blast a bunch of droids with the Force?” Echo hedges. “We’d be surrounded and then suddenly they’d all be trashed?”

Fives twists his face disbelievingly. “I didn’t use the Force,” he scoffs. “C’mon, Echo, that’s ridiculous.”

“You blew out all the windows and most of the consoles, and knocked Wrecker on his _shebs_ ,” Echo says. “Fives, you did all of that without touching _anything_. What else could it be?”

“I’m not a Jedi!”

“You don’t have to be a Jedi to be Force-sensitive,” Echo snorts.

Force-sensitive. Like he needs another thing to worry about. The _shabla_ Force.

Fives makes himself remember how to breathe, tries to stay calm, but he knows he’s failing at both and he knows there’s panic in his eyes and he knows that that’s why Echo puts his arms around him again.

“Okay,” Echo says and Fives leans into his chest and tries to stop shaking. “It’s okay. We’ll deal with it later. For now, just…try to keep a handle on it.”

Fives isn’t sure how to keep a handle on something he doesn’t really understand, but with Echo around, with Echo alive, the fire is soothed. Calm. Cool. “I will,” Fives says. “I promise.”

Echo’s fingers card gently through his hair. Fives closes his eyes and breathes. It’s tempting to stop talking, to stay here in the silence and the peace.

“They don’t think you should trust me,” Fives says a long moment later.

Echo sighs.

“Why do you?”

“I know you, Fives,” Echo says, annoyed. “I’d know if you weren’t right.”

“How?”

Echo’s hands slow and stop. “I don’t know,” he says. He sounds genuinely confused. “I just do.”

There’s more to it. Fives almost asks and then bites it back.

He remembers when they told each other everything.

“What were you doing in the base anyway?” Echo asks.

Fives pulls carefully away. “Looking for Fox,” he says.

“So was I,” Echo says. He furrows his brow and scrunches his nose. “We need his help. Why were you there?”

“Because,” Fives says, “he’s the reason I’m alive.”

He tells Echo – about Fox and his ashen face and bloodshot eyes, about his own revival, about getting Fox’s chip removed, and about running around the galaxy looking for something, anything, to prove what he was shown.

He doesn’t mention Ventress.

“What do you mean, what you were shown?” Echo asks.

“What?”

“You said ‘what he showed me.’ What who showed you?”

Fives’ blood runs cold. “After I found out about the chips, Master Ti brought me to Coruscant,” he says. When he hesitates, Echo wraps an arm around him and squeezes. Fives clears his throat. “She set up a meeting with the Supreme Chancellor. He asked her to leave. I thought he was going to listen to me. I thought he was going to help me. But he just – I don’t know, Echo. He was in my head. He showed me what he was going to do. What he was going to make all of our brothers do.”

“Wipe out the Jedi.”

“He’s a _shabla_ Sith,” Fives says hoarsely, grateful for Echo’s grounding grip. “He tried to activate Fox’s chip, but there was something wrong with it. I guess, uh, you’re supposed to black out when it turns on, and Fox didn’t. And he found a way to bypass whatever part of it was actually working.”

“You think he’s in trouble?”

“He hid a note,” Fives says. “Two lines. Chancellor. And goodbye.”

“That’s not good.”

“He has to be alive,” Fives says. “He’s too important for the Chancellor to kill.”

A shadow passes over Echo’s face. “There are some things that are worse than death,” he says. “Let’s just hope that Palpatine hasn’t thought of them yet.”

He wants to ask. He can’t ask. He makes himself not ask. “If the Chancellor grabbed him, he’s probably still somewhere on Coruscant,” Fives says. “We just have to figure out where.”

Echo blows out a breath. “We don’t have the manpower for that kind of search,” he says. “We still have to figure out how to stop the Chancellor from sending out the signal.”

“Then we’ll split up,” Fives says. “I have a…contact I’ve been working with. You and the others, you do what you need to do. I’m going after Fox.”

Echo flinches. It would be imperceptible if Fives didn’t know him so well. “I’ll catch back up when we have Fox,” Fives says. He squeezes Echo’s wrist, but this time, Echo doesn’t relax.

“Who’s the contact?”

“What?”

“Who’s the contact?” Echo repeats.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Fives—”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve got it under control.”

“It’s the fact you have to keep it under control that worries me,” Echo says. He scrubs at his eyes with his left hand and sighs. “Just be careful, all right? I just got you back.”

“Oh, come on, Echo,” Fives says, and shoves him playfully. “I’m always careful.”

With the look Echo gives him, it’s a wonder he doesn’t drop dead a second time.

\--


	10. Circumnavigation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rex can't lie to save his life.
> 
> Cody doesn't lie; he's just a little more adept at manipulating the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings.
> 
> Thank you all again for reading - and for taking the time to let me know what you think! You make my day. :)

“Rex!”

Rex stops with one hand on the doorframe to his quarters and one foot lifted over the threshold. He’s glad his helmet is on; that way, Skywalker can’t see him press his eyes closed.

Too slow.

“Sir,” Rex says at last, turning to face him; He tugs his bucket off and tucks it under his arm.

Anakin waves a hand like he can bat away the title. “I’ve been looking all over for you,” he says. His brow furrows. “Why aren’t you answering your comm?”

Dodging Anakin Skywalker has become something of a challenge. At first, it was easy: on a ship this size and with as many casualties as they sustained, there’s no shortage of work to go around. Over the last two weeks, however, it’s become gradually harder and harder; the work hasn’t run out – but Anakin’s patience has. Rex suspects he’s resorted to following him through the Force.

Every time he turns a corner, Skywalker is somewhere nearby.

“Rex?”

“Forgot it,” Rex says. He hesitates. “In my quarters, sir. Just…came to get it.”

“At twenty-one-hundred.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Obi-Wan told me he saw you at zero-five-hundred directing repair crews in the bomber bay.”

 _Shab_. “He…did?” Rex says.

Anakin folds his arms across his chest. “Yeah, Rex,” he says. “He did. And he told me. You know, I’m starting to think you’re avoiding me. Actually, scratch that: I know you’re avoiding me.”

“No,” Rex says. “I’ve just been. Busy. Sir.”

Skywalker holds up a commlink. It takes Rex a second too long to realize Anakin plucked it off his gauntlet. “Found your communicator,” his General says. “I think it was attached to your arm. You know, like it always is.”

“Ah.” Rex gingerly takes the comm back. He doesn’t meet Skywalker’s eyes. “Thank you, General.”

Anakin’s gaze doesn’t waver.

“Was there, uh, something else, sir?”

“What’s going on?”

“We’re down a lot of men. There’s work to be done.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Rex sighs. “Look, General, I’m all right. Just as tired as the next man. I’ll be fine once I’ve had some sleep.”

“You know, Commander Cody’s a much better liar than you are.”

Rex makes a face. Cody also works with Kenobi. Cody also has a Force bond with Kenobi. Of course he’s learned to be better at hiding things. “Is that all?” he asks dryly.

“You know you can talk to me,” Anakin says. His voice is softer. He rests a hand on Rex’s shoulder. “If something’s wrong, you can tell me. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

If he tells Skywalker, he’ll shut it down. Damn the Chancellor: Rex has been turning it over with Cody in the late hours when they can’t sleep and it’s safer to talk freely. Palpatine has to be a mastermind to have orchestrated this war; he wouldn’t keep someone close because he cared about them; he’d keep them close because they were important for him to succeed.

And he keeps Skywalker very close indeed.

Rex wonders at what role Anakin’s being manipulated into filling and feels the fury surge in his chest. He can’t tell him. But he can protect him.

“I know,” Rex says. He manages a small smile. “Thank you.”

Anakin squeezes his shoulder and holds for a moment, searching his face. Maybe he’s waiting for Rex to explain what’s going on, why he’s been distant, why he’s been dodging him, but Rex just shrugs helplessly.

“If there’s nothing else, General?”

Anakin flinches. Rex desperately hopes he hasn’t heard his thoughts.

 _Shabla_ Force: it’s a massive inconvenience when you’re trying to commit high treason.

“General?”

“Nothing, Rex,” Anakin says. His eyes are suddenly distant. So it is the Force, then. Maybe it has something to do with some other problem somewhere else, completely unrelated to this exchange.

Skywalker rubs at his temples. “Just – when you’re ready to talk, you know where to find me. I mean, you have to know, right? You’re never in the same place at the same time.”

Anakin’s gone then, speeding down the corridor. Rex briefly considers going after him and decides against it. If there’s an issue with Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan will hear about it, which means Cody will know about it, which means that Rex will inevitably find himself in possession of the same information.

It’ll have to be enough for now.

Echo’s not due to call for another forty-five standard minutes. Rex makes himself review reports over a cup of stale caf until then. They’re Cody’s; he’s been putting off reading through them because of their length.

Cody is nothing if not thorough but sometimes Rex wonders if he crosses over into excessive.

When his datapad finally buzzes, it’s a relief.

“Echo,” Rex says with a wide smile. He drops it almost immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s nothing…wrong,” Echo says.

“Don’t be cryptic with me,” Rex shoots back sternly. Anxiety ticks up in his chest. “What is it? What happened? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Echo says quickly. “I’m fine, Rex. Don’t worry. Nothing’s wrong. Something’s actually gone right for once.”

“Just spit it out.”

“Fives is alive,” Echo blurts. Someone groans _Really?_ in the background; Rex barely hears it. _Don’t go. Don’t go. Stay with me, Fives. Don’t go._

“No,” Rex manages. “No, Echo, that’s not – that’s not possible. Fives is gone.”

Fives died in his arms.

Echo reaches a hand out of the frame and yanks another person in. At first, Rex thinks he fell asleep reading one of Cody’s reports, that he’s having some sort of nightmare delusion. Fives is gone. Fives is gone. Fives is gone.

“Hey, Rex,” Fives says.

“Fives,” Rex whispers. His heart is in his throat. “Fives.”

“Yeah,” Fives says. He grins. His hair’s grown back. He looks tired, but he’s there, he’s breathing, he’s alive. Rex manages a disbelieving chuckle.

“You’re gonna have to give me a minute,” he says. There’s something like bubbling glee in his chest, a hysterical kind of joyful relief. He can’t stop smiling. His vision is blurring. Fives is alive.

“Take your time,” Fives says.

“You don’t want the story?” Echo asks.

“No,” Rex says, dimly conscious of the tears streaming down his face. He can’t stop smiling. “No, Echo, not really.”

“It’s relevant,” Fives says, and shoves Echo. “Just give him a minute, _Ey’ika._ He’s _emotional_.”

“Kriff off,” Rex chokes. “You died in my arms.”

That sobers them both. “Sorry,” Fives says, almost sheepishly. Rex coughs a laugh.

“It’s all right, _vod’ika_ ,” he says and Fives gives a pleased little smile at the nickname.

Rex swipes at his face and clears his throat. All at once he wants to drag him close and hold him like he held Echo his first night home. All at once he wants to apologize, wants to whisper _I’m sorry I didn’t save you_. Not on Umbara. Not in that warehouse on Coruscant. Too late. Always too late.

But for the moment, Fives is lightyears away.

“It’s all right,” Rex says again, once he’s more composed. “You’re both okay?”

“Yeah,” Fives says. Echo frowns skeptically before he realizes what he’s doing.

“What is it?” Rex asks.

“Nothing we need to deal with right now,” Fives says shortly. He cuts Echo a look. “We’ve got bigger problems.”

Rex can’t think of anything he cares about more than keeping them safe – keeping them all safe. “Right,” he says slowly.

“Palpatine’s a Sith,” Fives says.

“You can’t just say that,” Echo grumbles. “Can you try to be a little more tactful about it?”

“What, like you? ‘Fives is alive.’ You almost gave him a heart attack, Echo!”

If it’s true, if Fives is right, Cody’s not going to like it at all. So much for the Council sensing it.

“You know I’m going to need more than that,” Rex says. “So let’s hear it.”

* * *

Cody is sure of one thing and one thing only and that is that Obi-Wan Kenobi is going to be the death of him.

The Force bond is a comfort, most of the time, but right now, it’s the biggest inconvenience in the entire _shabla_ galaxy.

Kenobi doesn’t ask him what’s going. Kenobi doesn’t ask him if he’s all right. No, he’s too smart for that. He knows Cody will deny everything and he knows that that’ll leave him at a dead end, so he very deliberately does not ask questions for which there are answers that Cody could use to stonewall him. Can’t very well say _I’m fine, I’m tired, I’ll be okay after I’ve slept_ if Kenobi never asks him _Are you okay?_ And if he says he’s fine without any prompting, then Obi-Wan will just quirk a brow at him and go _Is there a reason I should think you’re not, Cody?_ – and then he’ll be trapped.

So it’s business as usual

Except that it’s not.

Kenobi carries on as if everything is perfectly normal while Cody does his best to pretend that it is, that he’s not hiding anything, that he hasn’t been practicing shielding the bond from his emotions, which of course leaves cold and empty space that Kenobi notices immediately – and doesn’t mention. Cody knows he knows. Obi-Wan acts perfectly oblivious. It’s a persistent push-and-pull: too much, too little; a flood, a void.

They’ve been doing this little song and dance for the better part of the last two weeks. Cody’s three seconds from swinging at his superior officer and getting tossed into the brig just to get away from him.

But then, that would really be suspicious.

Obi-Wan always eats in the mess with the rest of the troops, but it’s usually later in the morning after he’s meditated and gotten some work done, not at 0400 when Cody’s hunched over a cup of caf while Rex picks at his food and mumbles about something or other across from him.

“Good morning, Commander,” Obi-Wan says. Rex jumps. Cody looks up wearily. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Can’t very well refuse. “Of course not, General,” Cody says, seething inside. “Have a seat.”

Rex stops mid-chew and raises an eyebrow at him like Kenobi’s not right there, studying them with a kind smile.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says, settling in beside Rex. Rex glances at him; the man looks like death when he gets up in the morning and today is no exception. At least Obi-Wan has the decency to appear briefly unsettled by the zombie staring at him before that pleasant smile settles back into place. “Captain.”

“G’nral,” Rex says, and seems to realize he still has a mouthful of food. He swallows and clears his throat. Cody makes a face. “Um, good morning.”

“Anakin tells me you’ve had some issues locating your communicator of late,” Obi-Wan says. Rex chokes. “I’m glad to see that you have it with you this morning. Apparently, he’s under the impression you’re avoiding him.”

“I’m not,” Rex says. Cody wants to reach across the table and smack him. Watching Rex lie is painful on a good day; today, it’s excruciating. “I’ve just been very busy.”

“So have we all,” Obi-Wan says, patiently cutting up the block on his plate like it’s a prime slab of steak and not a tasteless blob of nutrient-fortified gelatin. “The repair crews report that the breach in the hyperdrive chamber has been sealed. We should be underway in a few hours and arrive at Coruscant before the end of the day.”

“That’s good news,” Cody says neutrally. They won’t be dead weight floating in empty space. And he’ll finally be able to stay more than a ship-length away from Kenobi.

“I should think so,” Obi-Wan says. “I, for one, will certainly be relieved when we’ve resupplied. Sol tells me we’re running low on or have run out of nearly everything.”

“Kix says that too,” Rex mutters. He stabs the blob on his plate until a corner of it deflates, then pushes it away.

“I have a ration bar left if you’d prefer that,” Kenobi says, procuring one from his pocket. “It’s been crushed, I’m afraid, but it’s still a sight better than…that.”

“No, thank you,” Rex says. “That’s your lunch, General.”

Kenobi sets it on the table and slides it toward him. “I’ll be all right,” he says gently. “You need to eat.”

“I’m fine,” Rex repeats stubbornly. “Keep it.”

“Just take the _shabla_ bar, Rex,” Cody says. “He’s not going to let it go until you do.”

“He’s right,” Kenobi says.

“No,” Rex repeats. He pulls his plate back toward him slowly. “I’ll eat the _osik_.”

Cody rolls his eyes. He knows the reason for the brooding, of course, as unlike Rex as it may be: Fives is alive, Rex wants to see him, and he can’t.

Cody knows the feeling, even if he can’t afford the attitude. Getting called to Rex’s quarters in the middle of the night to learn that Fives was alive and then hear the explanation from their ARCs did nothing for the dark circles under his eyes, which means it did nothing to dissuade Kenobi. He can’t imagine the sudden surge of complicated emotion clouding the bond helped, either. Maybe Obi-Wan put it down to a nightmare.

Cody hopes he’ll just put it down to a nightmare.

Kenobi sighs and taps the bar. “I’ll just leave this here, then,” he says. “Do remember to take it with you.”

“No, General—”

Kenobi pats him on the shoulder and pushes his chair out to stand. “Oh, Commander,” he says, “If you’re not too busy this afternoon, I’d like to run over a few things with you.”

There’s instant concern in Rex’s otherwise dead expression. Cody wants to swear at him. If he can’t manage a good pazaak face, the least he can do is look somewhere else so Kenobi can’t see it. “I’ll clear a block in my schedule,” Cody says mildly.

“I’ll assume eighteen-hundred unless you tell me otherwise,” Obi-Wan says, and then is gone.

“Guess that’s your block,” Rex says.

Cody smacks his arm. “You can’t lie for _osik_ ,” he says.

Rex makes a face and shoves the ration bar at him. “Oh, no,” Cody says, “I’m sure Kenobi’s going to ask you about it later.”

Rex sighs. “I’ll take it down to Kix,” he says. “Jesse’ll appreciate it.”

“Eat your nutrition cube.”

Rex scowls.

“Rex. The General was right about one thing: you need to eat.” Cody stares at him. “ _Rex_.”

“I know, Codes,” Rex mumbles miserably, staring at the sludge. “I know.”

“We’ll see him as soon as we can,” Cody says quietly. He clasps Rex’s wrist and squeezes. “I promise.”

It gets him half a smile, at least. That’s better than nothing. 

The technicians try to turn the _Resolute’s_ hyperdrive back on and almost end up blowing out lifesupport. Cody spends most of the day in his armor or attached to a respirator, rushing from one station to the next, directing crews and putting out fires. The _Resolute_ is in bad enough shape that, between heaving breaths of stale oxygen and barking at shinies that got too close to a clearly-marked hazard, he wonders how she’s still flying at all.

The _Negotiator_ , meanwhile, took so much damage that most of her crew has been assigned to the _Resolute_ ; they’re housed in storage bays that were hastily repurposed as short-term living quarters. A skeleton crew eats, sleeps, and lives on the _Negotiator’s_ bridge; it’s the only part of the craft that isn’t actively venting atmosphere.

They have just enough power and integrity to limp home.

The chrono hits 1750. Cody stumbles to his quarters, shrug out of his scorched armor (nice work, Boil), and throws on his fatigues. He almost sinks down onto his bunk and then thinks better of it; if he closes his eyes, he’ll pass out and miss his meeting with Kenobi.

 _Shabla_ meeting with Kenobi.

It takes him longer than he thinks it should to make it to Kenobi’s quarters. Cody raps on the door twice and waits.

“You can come in, Commander.”

Cody palms the door open and steps inside. The lights are dimmer here; it takes his eyes a second to adjust.

Kenobi’s wearing his tunic instead of his armor, sitting cross-legged on the floor. He looks calmer than Cody’s seen him in months, more like a peacekeeper than a war-weary soldier. It strikes him that Obi-Wan must have been meditating before he knocked and shattered the silence.

“My apologies, General,” Cody says. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Quite all right, Cody,” Obi-Wan says. “I did say eighteen-hundred.”

Cody stares at him. Kenobi waves at the floor and Cody eases down across from him. The door hisses shut.

“You look tired,” Obi-Wan says.

“No more than anyone else, sir.”

“I’m sure.” Kenobi tilts his head at him. “How’s Rex? I’m told he had something of a close call.”

“One of the airlocks started venting while he was repairing a console in the compartment,” Cody says. “He almost got spaced.”

It’ll be a funny story later, weeks down the line, but for now Cody still feels a cold grip around his heart when he thinks about it – still feels a surge of fear at Rex’s panic-blown eyes and the way he pounded on the glass and screamed for someone to hit the emergency shield. Can still feel the way Rex trembled after they got the shield up and Cody pulled him out of the compartment and didn’t let go.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan says, and Cody notices he’s flinching at the same time he realizes he’s been broadcasting his emotions, not subduing them. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Rex is fine,” Cody says shortly. “Skywalker made him go to the medbay and Kix cleared him. He was just a little lightheaded. No hard vacuum exposure.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

There’s a long beat of silence.

“What is it exactly that you wanted to discuss, General?” Cody asks tensely.

Obi-Wan sighs. “I’m not going to ask you about whatever it is that has you so anxious and upset all of the time, if that’s what you think,” he says. “I do respect your privacy, Cody.”

“Logistics, then?” Cody asks briskly. “You’re already well aware of our supplies situation. Most of the more critically injured men are in the medbay, but the overflow has been allocated to an adjacent supplies bay. Sol and Kix are coordinating their care. As far as repairs go, we’re back on schedule and should be departing—”

“Cody.”

“—for Coruscant in the next three hours. The hyperdrive is testy at best, so it’ll take us a full day instead of six hours. The _Negotiator_ reports—”

“ _Cody_.”

Cody snaps his mouth shut. “General.”

“First of all, you can drop the ‘General,’” Obi-Wan says dryly, and Cody doesn’t even have to strain to hear the note of annoyance he usually reserves for Anakin. Kenobi must have noticed too; his voice softens. “This meeting is not for logistics or for demanding to know what’s going on with you.”

All this talk about the chips has made him paranoid. Cody presses his eyes shut briefly. He should have seen this coming; Kenobi has never been one to pry into personal matters. Gently inquire, maybe, but never pry. “Sorry,” he says, without opening his eyes. “It’s…been a hell of a few months.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Obi-Wan says. Cody stares at him. There’s understanding in his gaze, open empathy and the shadow of old grief. Too many dead. “These last few campaigns have been hard on everyone. Your rank does not exempt you from that.”

“I’m sorry,” Cody says again. Obi-Wan opens his mouth to contradict him; Cody holds up a hand. “About…the bond. Shielding it – it’s difficult.”

“It just takes practice,” Kenobi says. “I think you’ve improved markedly these last few weeks, though you do tend to go all-in or share nothing at all.”

A flood. A void. Cody winces. “You’re sure there’s no way to sever it?” he asks.

“There are two ways to sever it,” Obi-Wan says, frowning. “One: one of us dies. Two: one of us shatters it. And that’s really not a viable option. It’s certainly not the healthiest.”

“Then what was it I felt when you—” Cody cuts himself off abruptly.

“When I what?”

“When you faked your death,” Cody says haltingly. “To go undercover as Rako Hardeen.”

“Ah.” Kenobi hesitates. There’s a flicker of guilt in his eyes. Cody remembers knowing the second it happened, collapsing to his knees in the middle of a fighter bay and clutching at his chest and trying to breathe while Waxer held him up and Boil went running for Sol. Remembers pain and fear and loss and an emptiness he could never really explain to Rex no matter how hard he tried. Remembers feeling like a part of him had died too.

Remembers an ache deeper than grief.

“That was unintentional result of my distancing myself,” Obi-Wan says. “I did the same thing to the bond I have with Anakin, but he’s been trained in the Force, so he was better able to process the loss.” He flinches. “I am sorry, Cody. I never meant for that to happen.”

“You’ve already apologized for this,” Cody reminds mildly. Waxer and Boil wasted no time in telling Kenobi about Cody’s collapse. They and Sol hadn’t understood the reason behind it and put it down to exhaustion and overwork, but Obi-Wan heard half their rambling explanation, immediately knew the real cause, and became a constant presence at Cody’s side until he was satisfied he was all right.

It was comforting – for the first few days, at least.

“I know.” Kenobi scrubs at his eyes. “I just wish I had done a lot of things differently on that operation.”

“You did what you had to.”

“I should have told Anakin and I should have better prepared you.” Obi-Wan grimaces and then sighs. “Nothing to be done about it now, I suppose.”

Short of tearing himself up over it for the next ten years, no. Cody drums his fingers on the floor. “There is no point to this ‘meeting’, is there?” he asks at last.

“In a manner of speaking,” Obi-Wan says. “There’s no formal purpose, no. Given that, I suppose it’s not really even a meeting.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Because you are one of my dearest friends,” Obi-Wan says, “and while I can’t take this pain from you, I was hoping that you would let me ease it for a while.”

Cody manages a shadow of a smile. If there was less at stake, he’d be tempted to take the gamble and tell Obi-Wan about the chips. Confronting a Sith would certainly be easier with a Jedi at their side, much easier than trying to puzzle out how to do it alone or if it’s even possible to take Palpatine by surprise. He and Rex and Echo and Fives spent most of the night going over it.

No one had a good solution. The only thing anyone could say with any certainty was that they have to act first and explain later. None of the Jedi ever believed Fives, after all, and there are too many lives on the line to make the same mistake twice.

“Cody?”

Cody jolts. Broadcasting again. _Shab_. There’s worry written across Obi-Wan’s face.

“You’re very anxious,” he says gently.

Cody sighs. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

Obi-Wan tilts his head to the side.

Well, he’s already here. “What do I do,” Cody hedges, “if we encounter a Sith again?”

Kenobi frowns. “You mean Count Dooku.”

“Dooku. Oppress. Maul. Ventress. Take your pick,” Cody shrugs. “The Jedi can handle it all right, but the troopers can’t – and I’m tired of watching my men die.”

Obi-Wan takes a measured breath. “There’s only so much you can do.”

“That’s not good enough. I need to know how to protect them.”

“Cody—”

“Everyone has to have a weakness,” Cody says, sharper than he means to. “What’s theirs?”

“It’s variable,” Obi-Wan says. “Fighting with a lightsaber and the Force is not all that different from using a blaster and grenades. It’s a matter of skill, timing, precision, and sometimes, luck. You make the best of what you have.”

Cody nods mutely.

“I’m sorry,” Kenobi says. “I wish there was more I could teach you. A better answer.”

Cody takes a steadying breath. “There might be,” he says.

“How do you mean?”

Cody reaches into his pocket and closes his hand around a medallion. It’s old, Mandalorian, and engraved with a mythosaur skull. Rex got it for him a long time ago; he never asked how. Wordlessly, Cody holds it in his outstretched palm, then reaches out into the webs and the waves and wills it to rise. It was loud and wobbly and uncontrolled the first time he tried it. Now it’s barely a whisper.

The medallion lifts, twirling between them. Kenobi doesn’t say anything. It takes Cody a moment to muster the courage to meet his eyes.

“I need to know how to use this to keep them safe,” Cody says. “Please.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t answer him, and for one terrifying irrational electric beat Cody’s sure he’s made the most fatal mistake of his life.

“That’s…more of a revelation to me than it should be,” Kenobi manages at last, and Cody remembers how to breathe. He lets the medallion drop and replaces it in his pocket.

“How long have you been able to do that?” Kenobi asks.

“Long enough,” Cody says. Since before the bond solidified. Since the battle meditation started. Years. He clears his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan says. “I suddenly feel as if my guidance has been severely lacking.”

“I learned from you,” Cody says. Through watching and listening and feeling; through the battle meditation: _There is no passion: there is only serenity. There is no death; there is only the Force_. He repeated it to himself, sitting alone in his quarters with his eyes squeezed shut and his hand outstretched, willing the same focus, willing the medallion to rise.

Kenobi looks impressed, proud, but still guilty. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “You shouldn’t have had to struggle through alone.”

“I was never alone,” Cody says. “I had you.”

Obi-Wan smiles. There’s a pulse of genuine joy through the bond, a wave of soothing calm and gratitude and pride.

“Who else knows?” Kenobi asks. “Rex?”

“No.” He told Rex that Kenobi said he wasn’t Force-sensitive; that was true enough. He told Rex that if he started hiding things, Kenobi would know something was off; that was more incomplete than untrue.

He can only conceal one reality-altering secret at a time.

“So it’s just me, then,” Kenobi says wryly.

“I didn’t say that,” Cody says. Obi-Wan cocks his head at him. Cody sighs. “Waxer,” he says. “Waxer knows, so if I’m honest, that means Boil probably knows too.”

“And how, pray tell, did this come to pass?”

“Umbara,” Cody says. Obi-Wan sobers. “When Krell pitted our forces against one another, Waxer got caught in the crossfire. He was barely alive when they brought him back to the _Negotiator_. He was going to die. I couldn’t let him go.”

“You healed him,” Obi-Wan surmises.

“When you healed me, you said all you did was think of the tissues knitting back together and the body repairing the damage done to it.” Cody shrugs. “So that’s what I did for Waxer.”

“I did wonder at his somewhat miraculous recovery.”

“Yeah, so did Boil. And Waxer, I guess, was more awake when I fixed him up than I first thought.” Cody twists his face, annoyed. “So those two know. And you. But that’s it.”

Obi-Wan makes a contemplative face. “What is it that you want me to teach you?” he asks at last. “You’re already well-versed in multiple forms of combat.”

“How to defeat a Sith. Up here.” Cody taps his temple. “Wolffe told me that Ventress played mind games. Distorted his reality. He couldn’t get a read on her. That’s how he lost his eye and most of his squad.”

Obi-Wan waves a hand to summon his datapad. He taps a few keys and flips it around to hand it over. “I don’t have the same texts available to the Temple library, but I do have these,” he says. “It might be a good place to start if you’re set on this.”

“I am,” Cody says, already transferring the files to his own ‘pad. As soon as it finishes, he eases to his feet. “Thank you.”

“It is I who should be thanking you, my friend.”

Cody stops in the doorway and looks back. “For what?” he asks.

Kenobi’s smile is kind. Cody gets a rush of warmth and care.

“For trusting me.”

“Just…don’t tell anyone else, General.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Cody locks his door as soon as he makes it back to his quarters. He spends the rest of the night propped against the wall his bunk backs up to, reading through the texts. A few are purely historical, but a greater majority of them are first-hand accounts made by Jedi that survived their encounters with Sith. Some are holographic recordings; others are written statements.

One of them is by Kenobi.

Cody hesitates and then taps it before he can make himself reconsider. It’s a recording. Kenobi’s younger; he still has the padawan braid. His face is solemn. Stoic.

And he’s recounting the story of his master’s death.

Cody knows only the vaguest details: that there was a Trade Federation blockade of Naboo, that Maul was responsible for Qui-Gon’s death, that Kenobi bisected Maul (which apparently didn’t kill the _hut’uun_ ). The recording fills in the blanks in the most painfully controlled way.

_“Ultimately, the Council knows that Maul was apprenticed to a Sith but has no way of identifying or otherwise locating his master. I can only surmise that he must be incredibly powerful and incredibly well-versed in the art of concealment. I’ve launched some inquiries of my own, but so far, none of them has turned up anything of use. Honestly, I doubt they will. Until this individual makes a mistake or chooses to reveal themselves, they will remain only a phantom menace.”_

The recording ends. Cody’s chest aches. It doesn’t take a genius to conclude that Maul’s former master has to be Palpatine. The _chakaar_ has been manipulating the galaxy behind the scenes for the entire war.

Kenobi deserves to know.

Cody blows out a breath and rubs at his eyes. His chrono says it’s 0230. He’s been absorbing those things for hours. He should sleep. He needs to sleep. He has to be up soon.

He sets the datapad aside, turns over, and closes his eyes. Tosses to the other side. And back. And over. And back.

 _Thank you for trusting me_.

Cody flops onto his back and stares miserably at the ceiling. Kenobi deserves to know. Kenobi can’t know.

He promised Rex he wouldn’t say anything.

Cody closes his eyes.

He never gets to sleep.

\--


	11. Countdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bad Batch puts their plot into motion.
> 
> Everyone is running out of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: none that I can think of, but please let me know if I missed one and I'll add it
> 
> Once again, thank you all for reading!

“Fives, wait.”

Fives stops at the top of the ramp. His pack is slung over his shoulder; he’s in civvies, which is necessary for where he’s going but still so odd when Echo’s so used to seeing him in armor. “Yeah,” he says. “What is it?”

“Be careful,” Echo says. His throat is painfully tight. They both have missions to complete. Fives has to leave. Fives will be fine. It’s Fives.

Echo just has the horrible feeling he’ll never see him again if he lets him out of his sight.

“I will,” Fives says. He cracks an easy grin. “You know that.”

Echo nods mutely. “See you on the other side,” he says, like he believes it. He hopes it sounds like he believes it.

It doesn’t sound at all like he believes it. 

“Yeah,” Fives says. He stands there silently for a moment, like he’s thinking, then decisively strides back up the ramp. Echo shifts aside, but Fives stops in front of him and sets his pack down.

“Hey, this isn’t goodbye, _Ey’ika_ ,” Fives says. He cradles Echo’s face in his hands and presses their foreheads together. “I promise, _vod_. We’ll see each other again.”

“I know,” Echo says, and shudders a breath. “I know.”

Fives’ arms wrap around him and pull him close. He holds tight. “It’s okay, Echo,” he says, muffled against Echo’s shoulder. “I’m here.”

When Fives does finally shift to pull away, Echo has to make himself let go.

“See you on the other side,” Fives says, squeezing his shoulder. He doesn’t pick up his pack until he gets a nod.

Then he’s gone.

“Are you okay?”

Echo jumps. “I’m fine, Tech,” he says. “Just thinking.”

“About the upcoming op, I hope,” Hunter says from somewhere above him. Echo presses his eyes closed and forces himself to breathe. May as well have the conversation now and clear the air.

Echo climbs up into the control room. The others, save Tech, are already gathered. They did a fair job of repairing the ship; if he hadn’t seen the shattered mess it was fourteen hours ago, he wouldn’t have known the difference.

“I know you think that what I did was reckless,” Echo says.

Hunter doesn’t look up from the holotable. “I don’t think it was reckless,” he says. “I know it was. If he was planted by the Chancellor, then you’ve just handed over all of our intel to the enemy.”

Echo does his best not to bristle. “You thought I was a traitor at first too.”

Hunter looks up at him. “We’re trying to take down the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic and suddenly, your dead brother is back. You don’t find his timing a little convenient? He happens to be in that specific base at the same time. He never even questions if you are who you say you are. He comes here with you and then he blows our control room to hell, which puts us fourteen hours behind.”

“Cross pushed him,” Echo says lowly. “It’s not his fault.”

“Hunter does have a point,” Tech suggests carefully. “We don’t know enough about where he’s been and how he’s still—”

“He told me,” Echo snaps. “And I relayed it to the rest of you once he went to sleep.”

“Why should we believe him?” Crosshair asks. He’s propped one shoulder against the wall and folded his arms. “He has no evidence. Are we just supposed to take his word for it?”

“No,” Echo hisses. “You’re supposed to take mine.”

“You’re compromised,” Hunter says.

“How’d he break everything without touching it anyway?” Wrecker grumbles. “Thought only the Jedi could do that.”

“Or the Sith,” Crosshair says coolly.

Echo scowls. “You don’t have to be a Jedi or a Sith to be able to use the Force,” he bites out.

His heart is pounding; there’s fire in his veins. He doesn’t know how to explain. He can’t just say he feels like a part of him that died came back to life when he saw Fives, can’t say that he followed him from the base because there was something painfully familiar about the broken note in his voice and a part of him couldn’t stand to leave it that way. Can’t just say he knows because he answered a call, because he feels it in his soul.

Feelings are not enough for them.

They shouldn’t be enough for Echo, either. But somehow, with the low soothing hum in the back of his mind, they are.

“When I first told you all about the chips,” Echo says, “you thought it was insane, but you looked into it anyway. And I was right. That intel? It came from Fives. All of this, everything we’ve been able to do: it’s because of Fives. He started this. He’s fighting for the same thing we are. That’s why he was in that base. That’s why he came back with me. Because he wants the same thing we do: to save our brothers.”

They’re all looking at him. Hunter’s face is unreadable. Echo squares his shoulders. “You trusted me then,” he says, “and it paid off. I’m asking you to trust me again now.”

“We do trust you, Echo,” Hunter says. “It’s just…”

There’s a long stretch of aching silence and all at once Echo realizes that the crackling strain in the air is not because they’re angry.

It’s because they’re worried.

“You don’t have to protect me,” Echo says softly. “Not from Fives.”

Some of the tension in the room eases. “You’re sure?” Wrecker asks gruffly. “You’re sure he’s on our side?”

“I am,” Echo says firmly. “I know my brother.”

Hunter studies him for a moment. “All right,” he says, and that’s it.

He waves them to the holotable and keys in the program code. The Senate building schematic flickers to life. “We’ve mapped the guards’ patrol patterns and determined the times at which the building is most empty. Tonight, we should be able to get in, do a sweep, plant the listening devices, and get out.”

“I isolated Protocol Sixty-Six in our chips,” Tech says. “Then I created a program that should, in theory, counteract it and render the command useless.”

“In theory?” Hunter quirks a brow.

“I’ve never coded a biological chip before,” Tech says briskly, “but I have full confidence in my work. The only issue I haven’t solved is finding a way to transmit the change en-masse to the entire GAR. If we discover a transmission mechanism in the Chancellor’s office, I might be able to send it out immediately.”

“How is the protocol triggered?” Echo asks. “Is he just going to flip a switch?”

Tech frowns. “The mass-execution command is tied to a very specific vocal frequency, one which I must assume belongs to Palpatine. We can say ‘execute Order Sixty-Six’ as many times as we want and it won’t turn the chip on. But once he does it, and they hear it, it’s over for any clone that hasn’t had their chip removed.”

The Chancellor has the access and the authority to relay a message to the entire GAR at once. Four words, and everyone’s finished. A chill runs up Echo’s spine. “We can’t jam all communications coming from his office or personal device in the long-term. They’ll discover it and shut us down.”

“He must have a failsafe,” Tech says. “A hard method of triggering the protocol in the event of a communications collapse or a voice-activation failure. That’s how he was attempting to activate Commander Fox’s chip individually. If we’re able to find the failsafe, I’ll able to use it to beam my program to various command center relays, which will then update everyone’s chips directly.”

Crosshair smirks. “Then if he tries to turn it on…”

“It fizzles,” Techs finishes. He adjusts his goggles. “It would help if we had an idea of his timeline, but the likelihood of there being a physical record is slim to none. He probably has a small inner circle that’s aware of it, but even if we were able to determine who that includes, I doubt they would talk.”

“Do we think this circle includes Fox?” Hunter asks.

“If it does, it’s not because he chose it,” Echo says. “Fives is working on determining his location and – current status.”

“We have to be prepared for the worst,” Hunter mutters. “If he was working against the Chancellor and was discovered, he might be past the point where we can help him.”

There’s a sick pang in Echo’s chest. Be prepared for the worst.

Be prepared to shoot another clone.

“Fives told us Palpatine’s a Sith,” Wrecker says, tilting his head to the side. “How are we dealin’ with that, when it comes down to it?”

Hunter blows out a breath.

“Mandalorians have, historically, had the most success against Force-users, regardless of their alignment,” Tech says. “The _cuy’val dar_ trained us. We have their tactics. We just have to apply them effectively.”

“You were,” Echo says. “I wasn’t. I’m going to need a run-through.”

“We can manage that,” Hunter says. He sweeps his gaze around the room. “The briefing starts now. Mission prep starts at seventeen-hundred. We breach the Chancellor’s office at twenty-one-hundred. Clear?”

“Clear,” Echo says with the others.

“Good.” There’s a steely glint to Hunter’s eyes. “Then let’s get this done.”

* * *

They’ve been here twenty minutes and already Echo’s really tired of crawling through the walls.

The Senate building has large ventilation shafts running throughout the structure; the place is too large for any other kind of system to function effectively. The upside is that there’s plenty of space for them to maneuver in.

The downside is that they’ve had to dodge or disable no fewer than six security fans – one of which almost sucked Crosshair into its blades.

“They added these fans after a group of senators was taken hostage by Cad Bane,” Tech says, a voice in his ear over the comm. “Bane has also broken into the Jedi Temple. After security teams noted that the fans in the Temple were an effective deterrent, they were installed here as well.”

“Glad to know my decapitation would have had technical merit,” Crosshair says.

“Cut the chatter,” Hunter says. “We’re coming up on the junction.”

There’s a faint clatter, Hunter removing the ventilation cover, and then a dull thud as he drops through. Crosshair follows him, then Tech. Echo’s last. He shifts a mechanism in his prosthetic hand and secures a hook to the edge of the vent cover, then slowly eases himself over the edge and drops to the ground. One tug of the cable slides the cover back into place.

“Nice work,” Tech says. Echo retracts the cable and shifts the mechanism back. He’s grateful Tech took the time to work with him on an upgrade and grateful that General Skywalker was willing to give him some input when he was so busy and so far away. The replacement is a lot more versatile than the original.

The lights in the corridor are dimmed to save energy. Making the hallway look ominous isn’t the intended effect, but it’s the one it has on Echo anyway. A shiver creeps down his spine. He feels, suddenly, as if they’re being watched, even though that’s not possible, even though there are no cameras in this passage, even though the guards are, per the mapped schedule, on the other side of the building right now.

Even though the Chancellor isn’t even here.

The corridor is completely deserted. Echo follows them slowly down it and tries to press the feeling away. It’s a swelling sense of foreboding, thick in his throat and heavy on his skull.

The closer they get to the Chancellor’s office, the worse it gets.

Echo’s breath catches.

“What is it?” Crosshair asks immediately, dropping back to fall in step beside him.

“Nothing,” Echo croaks. His chest aches. It feels cold, like the stasis chamber. It feels wrong, like being told Fives was gone.

He’s freezing. He’s wearing ARC kit. He shouldn’t be freezing.

Echo’s dimly aware the others have stopped moving in front of him. “Echo,” Hunter says. “Everything okay?”

“Something’s wrong,” Echo says tensely. Closer, closer. Cold. Go. Go. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

“Why—”

“ _Now_ ,” Echo hisses. Before he’s even finished speaking, Crosshair is prying a vent cover off the wall and shoving Tech through. Hunter hesitates only a fraction of a second and then dives after him. Echo follows Crosshair, clicks the cover back into place, and scoots as far away from it as he can manage without making a sound.

Then he holds his breath.

“What do you see?” Hunter asks, barely a breath over the comm.

Echo can’t answer him; he’s too busy reminding himself to breathe, breathe, reminding himself they’re safe and out of sight. His chest is tight. His hands are ice. He strains to hear – something, anything. It takes a beat. It takes an eternity.

Footsteps.

“They wouldn’t change their guard patterns so spontaneously,” Tech murmurs.

There are two sets: one is wearing boots, the other softer shoes. Echo squeezes his eyes shut and shies away from the vent’s opening. Swishing robes. Leather soles. Red. Kama. Hard plasteel. ARC pauldron.

Fox.

He’s not alone. Echo’s eyes snap open; he zooms in as far as his HUD will allow. He can still only see the robes, some armor plates, and the shoes. He can’t make out the other figure. He doesn’t have to.

Everyone knows that voice.

“Commander, I must commend you once again,” Palpatine says. “Your work since your return from medical leave has been nothing short of extraordinary.”

“Thank you, Chancellor,” Fox says, even and controlled. It’s not out of character for him, Echo’s sure – Rex did call him a straight shooter, after all.

But something about the way the words hit Echo’s ears is off. Out of place.

“I trust that you have made the necessary preparations for my speech tomorrow,” the Chancellor says. “I do hope there weren’t many complications with the room arrangements. The Senators, they can be so particular about their seating.”

“None at all, sir.”

“I am relieved to hear it. The robes swish; Palpatine takes a step closer to Fox, which puts him directly in front of the vent. Echo doesn’t move. Doesn’t reach through the opening and shank the _shabuir’s_ ankles for what he did to Fives.

There’s a sudden streak of white hot rage through the arctic ache.

“The _Negotiator_ and the _Resolute_ are due to return any time now,” Palpatine says. “It will be good to have them home again.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I think I will have a word with Marshal Commander Cody,” the Chancellor says. Echo stiffens. “I’ve found his reports on their recent campaigns to be very thorough and enlightening. Tell me, what did you think of them?”

“Cody does his job well, Chancellor,” Fox says.

Echo wrinkles his nose; it hits him: what Fox is saying sounds wrong because it’s so subdued and eager-to-please. Most shinies move past that stage in the first few weeks of their assignment. As a clone commander, like Cody, Fox never would have had the luxury of the adjustment: he was trained as a leader and expected to stand as the example from day one.

“He does,” Palpatine agrees, almost idly. He takes a measured breath. “Diligence is a value well-worth our admiration. It cannot, however, replace loyalty.”

“Cody’s as loyal as they come, sir. When it’s time, he’ll do his duty.”

Palpatine snorts softly. “I know he will,” he says, like Fox is an old friend. “He understands the merits of commitment and dedication, just as you do.”

“Yes, Chancellor.”

There’s a long pause.

“This war has been long,” Palpatine says distantly, like he can see something Fox can’t, “but do not fear, Commander. It will soon be drawing to a close.”

“How can you tell, sir?”

Something sick twists its way up Echo’s spine; a wave of nausea sweeps through him. He does his best not to gag. His breath comes in a wheeze.

Don’t throw up in your helmet.

“I can feel it,” Palpatine says. “The tide is turning to our favor.” He shifts, the barest shuffle on the marble floor. “It will not be long now. Our victory is on the horizon.”

Don’t throw up in your helmet.

“I hope you’re right, Chancellor.”

There’s another long pause. The cold twists, twists, turns, heavy on his head, heavy in his chest. Echo curls his hand into a fist. Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Don’t think.

Then, all at once, it’s gone.

“Well, I think our work here is concluded,” Palpatine says, like he’s resolved an answer to a question only he can hear. “If you would escort me to my speeder, Commander.”

“I live to serve, Chancellor.”

Echo doesn’t move until the footsteps have faded away. Then he slowly drops his helmet to the vent and breathes.

“So,” Hunter says, “either Fox is the biggest _sheb’urcyin_ on Coruscant, or they did something to him.”

“Echo?” Crosshair calls tensely.

“I’m all right,” Echo whispers. He can’t stop trembling. He sucks in a labored breath. His lungs feel stiff, like when Rex took him out of stasis and he tried uncycled air for the first time in months. “We need to get moving.”

“Let’s hope that was the only surprise,” Hunter says grimly.

“If we’re not back on-time, Wrecker’s going to be worried,” Tech says. Echo eases himself out of the vent, conscious that they’re all following behind him. “They came from the Chancellor’s office.”

The latest Palpatine stayed during their surveillance was 2000 hours. Each time, he was escorted out by a member of the Coruscant Guard – never its Commander. It’s an odd role for Fox to take on, when he has so many other responsibilities. He must have been personally requested.

The Chancellor’s keeping him close.

Echo wonders at the timing, as they make their way the last few meters down the corridor to Palpatine’s office and Tech starts wiring his way in. It might be a coincidence. It might not. Can Palpatine sense that someone’s on to him? Did he know they were in the ventilation system, listening in? It won’t be long now, he said. His plan must be coming to a head – soon.

They don’t have a lot of time.

“We’re in,” Tech says. The door slides aside.

The office is just as unassuming as Palpatine makes himself out to be. Clean. Organized. Elegant.

Mundane.

Echo shudders.

Tech wastes no time initiating a scan. Echo follows suit, holding out his right palm and running it along the wall. Every cable in the building is rated for rapid, high-volume data transfer. There are hundreds of them in this segment alone.

_Well, what did you expect, Echo? A label that says ‘For Order 66’?_

Crosshair’s taken up guard at the door. Hunter’s very carefully installing listening devices in the ceiling. Echo and Tech methodically sweep the entire room. There’s nothing out of place, mechanically speaking – no cables where they shouldn’t be, no devices hidden away.

“The transmission method could be integrated into his datapad,” Tech says. “Or it might be kept off-site at a different facility.”

“The patrol will be coming through here any minute,” Crosshair reminds. “Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast.”

They can seal the door, but then they’ll be trapped in here until the guards pass over this section of the building – and that won’t happen until the sun is up and the Senators come flooding back in.

“Tech,” Hunters says. “Pull the Senate security transportation records for the Chancellor. We need to know where he is when he’s not here.”

“On it.”

“Five minutes,” Crosshair warns.

Echo’s heart is pounding. Tech’s fingers are flying. “I’ve got it,” he says. “Transferring now.”

Hunter’s hand curls into a fist, uncurls, and clenches again. Stressed. He has one tic.

“Four minutes.”

Three

Two.

“Done.”

They sprint back to the access panel. They’ve just barely made it inside when the trooper patrol marches by.

“Too close,” Crosshair growls.

The haul back to the ship is in silence.

“You’re late,” Wrecker grumbles. Echo’s legs are shaking; he eases down onto the floor.

“Got caught up,” Hunter says. “We ran into some problems.”

“Did you find the failsafe?”

“No,” Crosshair says. He sets his pack down with more force than is necessary, a sharp _thud_ that makes Echo jump. “He doesn’t keep it there.”

“It has to be at a secondary facility,” Tech says. He’s already sliding into a chair and loading up the drive. “I’ll go through the data and map his movements. It will be one of the locations he travels to with enough frequency that any unexpected visits wouldn’t raise any suspicion.” He glances over his shoulder. “It’s going to take a while. I would recommend getting something to eat in the meantime.”

The others disappear belowdeck. Echo leaves the control room long enough to grab two ration packets and then climbs back up through the hatch.

“Here,” he says, sliding one onto the console in front of Tech. “You need to eat too.”

Tech doesn’t stop typing or scanning through the information, but he does quirk a smile. “Thank you,” he says. “I’ll eat when I’m finished.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t mind the company.”

Echo picks at his ration bar and rocks back in the chair. Palpatine mentioned Cody specifically. It makes logical sense that he’d be important, of course: Cody’s one of only five clone Marshal Commanders in the entire GAR and has all the influence and following that comes with the position.

Knowing the fact does nothing for the ticking unease in his chest. He needs to warn Cody, give him a chance to prepare himself; he needs to check in with Fives, tell him about Fox.

They’re running out of time.

“We’re going to do this, you know,” Tech says, like he’s read his mind.

Echo blinks at him. “Do what?”

“Win,” he says. “The Bad Batch has a perfect operational success score. I really would like to keep it that way.”

Echo chuffs a laugh. “So would I, Tech,” he says. “So would I.”

\--


	12. No rest for the weary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Problems only seem to crop up when Cody is trying to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: brief mention of surgical procedures

"What do you want, Rex?”

 _“We’ve got a problem,”_ Rex says, a worn voice over Cody’s communicator. _“I need you to meet me outside the primary medbay.”_

Cody bolts upright. His chrono is bleeding red: 0332. “Is everyone all right?”

 _“No one’s dead,”_ Rex says crisply. _“But this can’t wait.”_

Cody armors up and all but runs to the medical bay. Rex is in his ARC kit with his helmet tucked under his arm, standing outside the door with Dogma and Jesse and Adenn. The other three are in fatigues. If memory serves, Jesse just got released, Dogma’s been on light duty, and Adenn is due to be discharged later today.

“Is there a problem with our ARCs specifically?” Cody asks dryly, tugging off his helmet too. He scans the group. Dogma shifts from one foot to the other and takes a deep breath.

“No,” Rex says. “Tell him, Jesse.”

Jesse twists his face into a scowl. “All right, but I don’t want him to get in any trouble. I don’t know what’s going on with him, I just—”

“Jesse,” Rex interrupts. “Spare us the commentary. Just tell him what you told me.”

“It’s Kix,” Dogma blurts out. Jesse groans and facepalms. “He’s acting – strange.”

“Strange how?” Cody asks.

Adenn takes a measured breath. “He wanted to run a level five atomic brain scan on me,” he says, furrowing his brow. “I didn’t sustain a head injury. I just took a lot of shrapnel to the chest. It didn’t make sense. I told him I didn’t need it. He insisted. He did the scan. He said he found something. Then he knocked me out and I woke up with my head shaved and a bacta patch on my skull.”

“I have a scar in the same spot,” Jesse mutters. “So does Dogma. But I asked Sol: none of us had head injuries. We shouldn’t have needed brain surgery.”

“We just want to know what he did,” Dogma says quickly. “I’m sure he meant well. Or that it was necessary…somehow.”

“I’m sure he did,” Cody says slowly. Rex’s eyes are dark with concern. “Listen, I want the three of you to head back to your bunks. Try to get some sleep. We’ll talk to Kix and then update you as-needed.”

Dogma nods sharply and shifts like he’s going to leave. When Jesse doesn’t move, neither does he. “He’s going to be all right,” Jesse says. “I mean, he’s fine, right? It’s Kix.”

“We’ll talk to him,” Rex says firmly. “Now get moving.”

“Am I discharged then, sir?” Adenn asks, rubbing at the deep, jagged scar that runs diagonally across his face, from his left temple to his chin. Cody wants to smile at the eagerness in his voice.

“Head to the auxiliary medical bay,” Cody says; Adenn deflates a bit. “Have Sol check you out. If he says you’re fine, then you’re out. Jesse, Dogma: make sure he gets there.”

The three of them hover for a beat more. “Trust us,” Cody says, pushing a wave of calm to them the way he’s felt Kenobi do it. “We’re not gonna let anything happen to Kix. I promise.”

The tension in their shoulders eases. As one, they obey. Only once they’re out of sight does Cody turn to Rex.

“You don’t think—”

“I do,” Rex says, dragging a hand down his face. “How in the hell does Kix know?”

“More importantly, why didn’t he bring it to us?” Cody asks.

“Probably thought we wouldn’t believe him,” Rex says, palming the door open. Kix is asleep at a desk in the corner, head propped on his folded arms. Cody almost feels bad for letting Rex cross the room and shake him awake. He’s probably had three hours of sleep in as many days.

“Hey. Hey, Kix. C’mon, we need to talk.”

Kix blinks blearily at them. “Yes, sir,” he mumbles, scrubbing at his eyes. Once he’s a little more coherent, he looks up to meet Rex’s gaze. “What is it? Did something happen?”

“You could say that,” Rex says, easing down to perch against the edge of the desk. Kix stares at him.

“Did it or didn’t it, Rex?” he asks tiredly.

“You’ve been conducting unauthorized brain surgeries,” Cody says. Kix frowns. Cody gets a surge of anxiety from him, but to his credit, he betrays none of it with his face.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kix says. “I would never initiate a procedure that wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

“Kix,” Rex says. “Come on. We talked to Dogma, Jesse, and Adenn. What are you doing?”

Cody doesn’t need the Force to feel his surge of panic. “Level with us, Kix.”

“Fives,” Kix says suddenly. He’s staring at his hands. “It’s – it’s because of Fives.”

“Because of the chips,” Rex surmises.

Kix jolts. “I’m not crazy,” he snaps. “They are _real_. I – I’ve been disposing of them so I can’t show them to you but if you do a level five atomic brain scan on any clone, yourselves included, you will find a biological chip that is wired to take us over at any second. Whenever the Chancellor flips the switch.”

“I know,” Rex says.

“You don’t – wait. You believe me?” Kix looks between them, frantic. Cody pushes calm to him, too, though it doesn’t seem to have much effect. “You actually believe me?”

“We’ve been looking into it, too,” Cody says. “Why didn’t you come to us?”

“Because of _Fives_ ,” Kix hisses. “Don’t you see? He learned the truth about what happened to Tup and it got him killed. I couldn’t take the chance.”

Fives is alive. Cody glances at Rex. Now’s not the time. “Well, what did you find?” Rex asks, folding his arms.

“Evidence,” Kix says. He raises his chin. “I have evidence.”

“What evidence?”

“From the Grand Republic Medical Facility,” Kix says. “It’s where they took Fives.”

“How in the hell did you get in there?”

“I’m a medic,” Kix says, annoyed. “You have your strategy conferences, I have my battlefield triage seminars. There was one held at the facility almost right before we left for Anaxes. I asked General Skywalker if I could attend. He agreed. He dropped me off. I went to the director’s office instead of the seminar. Nobody there noticed: all clones look the same to them and at that point, the place was absolutely packed with _vode_.”

“What’s the evidence?” Cody asks. “What did you get?”

“A holographic message,” Kix says, “from the Chancellor to the facility’s director, Tel Daneb. It’s mostly a monologue, him laying out his ‘grand plan’ for a ‘new and glorious autocratic state’ and what Daneb’s role would be once it happened, but he starts out by describing the genocide of the Jedi. Activating the chips. Turning us against our generals.” Kix swallows thickly. “I mean, he doesn’t phrase it exactly like that. He doesn’t call it a genocide, but he does mention the chips and Protocol Sixty-Six.”

“What does he call it?” Rex asks.

“‘The traitors’ just fate.’” Kix shudders. “He’s going to use us to wipe out the Jedi, Rex. Fives figured it out after what happened to Tup and he told me and when he died, I couldn’t just – I couldn’t let his death mean nothing. He deserves better than that. He deserves so much better than that.”

There are tears in his voice. Rex kneels down in front of him and takes hold of his shoulders. “I need you to listen to me, Kix,” he says fiercely, and waits until he gets a nod. “We are going to face this together and we are going to win. You understand, _vod?_ No one else dies. We’re going to save them.”

Kix takes a shuddery breath. “All right,” he says.

“Where do you keep the data?” Cody asks. Kix holds up his arm. Cody frowns.

“In a chip,” Kix says, “that I carry in a capsule subcutaneously. It’s insulated against energy surges so even if I go, it stays safe. Won’t show up on most scanners, either.”

Rex makes a face.

“I have another copy of the data on Coruscant,” Kix says, “but this is the original from the medical facility. It has the Chancellor’s electronic signature, all of the transmission data, and a top-tier security clearance verification. That can’t be faked. They can’t say I faked it.”

“You’ve just been sitting on this?” Cody asks disbelievingly. “Why not _tell someone_ , Kix? You have the evidence.”

Kix grimaces.

“Kix,” Rex says, drawing out his name. “What is it?”

“I don’t know if I got out of there completely unnoticed,” Kix says. “I tried to account for all of the possible traps in the system when I went in, but I think I might have tripped a silent alarm when I pulled the chip from the ‘pad.”

“You _think?_ ”

“There was a blinking light,” Kix says. He twists his face. “I made it out and a few minutes later the guards went rushing in. I blended back into the crowd without a problem and they never put the place into lockdown, but I think they might still be looking for the chip. And for me.”

“So the Chancellor’s almost certainly come up with a story to discredit you.” Rex blows out a breath. “Of course. We turn the chip over to the Senate and he makes the whole thing disappear.”

“Not if the chip is in the right hands,” Cody says carefully. Both of them look up at him.

“Whose hands?” Rex asks.

“Kenobi’s.”

Rex snaps to his feet. “We’ve been over this,” he says shortly. “The Jedi can’t help us.”

“Rex, the Jedi are serving as generals in the war. That makes the Council a military body. They have the authority to take action against the Chancellor if they are provided with evidence of his treason.”

“The _shabla_ Council couldn’t even tell that he was a Sith,” Rex hisses. “They meet with him every other day and they can’t sense a _di’kutla_ Sith right under their noses?”

“This isn’t about the Council,” Cody shoots back. “This is about Umbara and Skywalker and Fives dying in your arms in that _shabla_ warehouse.”

There’s a riptide of grief and rage in Rex’s eyes. “Don’t,” he says hoarsely. “This has nothing to do with any of that.”

“This has everything to do with all of that.” Cody softens his tone. “I trust Kenobi with my life, Rex. That has to mean something to you.”

“I trusted Skywalker with Fives’ life,” Rex says, suddenly quiet. “Look how that ended.”

Kix is looking between them with wide eyes. “We’re on our own,” Rex says, still so soft. “We can’t risk making the same mistake twice. Not when every single one of our brothers’ lives is on the line.”

Cody takes a slow breath. “All right,” he says. “But at least tell me you have a contingency to deal with the Sith.”

Rex sets his jaw. His eyes flare. “No,” he says. “Not yet.”

“Wait,” Kix says. “Palpatine’s a Sith?”

“Yeah, Kix.” Rex sinks down against the desk again and scrubs at his eyes. “He’s a Sith.”

“ _Shab_.”

Cody rubs at his temples and glances at his chrono. 0441. He has to meet with Kenobi about offloading protocols in forty-five minutes. “We’re not going to solve the Sith problem right now,” he says wearily. “For now, no more unauthorized surgeries, Kix.”

“I just wanted to keep them safe,” Kix says roughly. He blinks, blinks. Rex squeezes his shoulder. His voice cracks. “I thought if I couldn’t prove it, I could at least save a few more of my brothers.”

Rex pulls him upright and then wraps his arms around him. “I know, Kix,” he whispers, cradling Kix’s head against his shoulder. There are tears in his voice too. “I know.”

* * *

Coruscant seems so much quieter than he remembers.

The shuttle ride down from the _Resolute_ is quiet. Skywalker’s silent at the controls, scanning the horizon as he easily guides the craft into the appropriate lane.

“You’re talkative today,” Anakin says at last, glancing at him. Rex suddenly wishes he had his helmet on instead of resting in his lap.

“Just enjoying the ride, sir.”

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yeah, you do,” Anakin says. He waits a beat. Two. Three. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Rex says shortly. “Everything’s fine.”

“Okay, see, now I _know_ something’s wrong.” Anakin frowns. His unease rolls off him in a wave. Skywalker’s always been one to think more with his heart than his head; it’s a method of operation Rex does his best not to emulate.

Since Fives died, he hasn’t been very good at it.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Rex says slowly. “Please respect that, General.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Anakin says. “I just want to know that you’re talking to _someone_.”

Rex hesitates. “Cody,” he says. “I – I talked to Cody.”

“And that helped?”

“Cody always helps.”

Anakin breathes a sigh of relief. “As long as you’re okay,” he says.

There’s an edge of pain to his voice. Skywalker’s not offended by his silence, but Rex knows him well enough to know he’s unsure of his role. Unsure of what he did wrong.

Unsure of why he’s being kept out.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Rex says. “I do. It’s just that this is something I’m not sure how to tell you yet.”

The sharp set of Anakin’s shoulders relaxes. “Take whatever time you need,” he says. “I’m always gonna be here.”

Rex flashes a shadow of a smile. Not for the first time, he wishes he could sit Skywalker down and tell him everything and ask him for his help. Cody has a point: it would be easier to take on a Sith with a Jedi at their side.

But every time, he remembers Fives. Remembers the Chancellor’s guile.

“I know,” Rex says. “Thank you.”

Skywalker’s silent for a long moment. “There’s a Mandalorian saying Obi-Wan told me that I can’t get out of my head,” he says. “ _Aliit ori’shya tal’din_.”

“Family is more than blood,” Rex says. “Your pronunciation’s getting better.”

“I’ve been practicing.”

“It’s paying off. Last time you tried Mando’a it, uh…” Rex clears his throat. “Well, let’s just say I’ve heard more eloquent noises from a bantha, General.”

“Thanks, Rex.”

“Anytime, sir.”

Anakin doesn’t take his eyes off the lane again, but he does reach out and shove Rex’s shoulder. Rex chuckles. “If you want any more help, I’m sure Jesse’d be willing to give you a few lessons.”

Anakin scoffs. “No. I’ve actually been talking to Obi-Wan. He’s a good teacher.”

“He has to be.”

“Funny.”

“My sense of humor is my best quality, General.”

Skywalker sets the shuttle down on the landing platform. Rex tugs on his helmet. Almost the second they step foot off the ramp, Anakin’s communicator buzzes.

“Relax, Obi-Wan. I’m on my way now,” Skywalker says.

 _“Very funny, Anakin,”_ Kenobi says, but he doesn’t sound like he thinks anything is funny; his voice is tense, strained. Rex stiffens. _“Report to the Chancellor’s office immediately.”_

Skywalker’s practically humming with anxiety by the time they make it to their destination. Kenobi and Cody are already there; beside them is Mace Windu.

Echo said that the Chancellor was putting something into motion imminently, that something was off with Fox, and that Cody would be summoned to discuss their recent campaigns.

He didn’t say anything about an imminent galactic emergency.

Commander Fox stands at attention behind the Chancellor’s desk, hands folded behind his back and shoulders sharply squared. Palpatine glances at him before he rises from his seat. “Anakin,” he says, “thank goodness you’re here.”

“Your Excellency,” Skywalker says, with a slight bow. When he raises his head again, his eyes are cutting steel. “What happened?”

“I’m afraid Commander Fox has uncovered a threat against my life,” the Chancellor says. His voice is old, high, cracking, and full of carefully tempered fear. He reaches into his desk and holds up two boxes, both of them small enough to fit into the palm of his hand. Skywalker takes one from him.

“These are listening devices,” he says, furrowing his brow.

Rex’s heart leaps into his throat. Echo didn’t give him the full details on their infiltration operation, but there’s no other way those could have gotten in here.

“Yes,” Palpatine says. “They were discovered in my office ceiling. Commander Fox has launched a full investigation into the matter. It seems that a silent alarm was tripped in the ventilation systems two nights ago. We think that may be when the intruders planted these devices. Who knows what sort of sensitive conversations they might have heard in the meantime?”

Obviously they haven’t heard anything useful, or Echo would’ve mentioned it already.

“We’ve reviewed the security logs,” Fox says, voice clipped. “All authorized arrivals and departures were completed by twenty-hundred. At approximately twenty-one-fifteen, one of the critical security fans was disabled. This triggered a silent alarm. Unfortunately, my men were on the other side of the building for their scheduled patrol. By the time they arrived at the Chancellor’s office, the intruders were gone.”

“So we have Separatist infiltrators loose on Coruscant,” Windu says, “but we have no way of identifying them.”

“Not quite, Master Jedi,” Palpatine says. “Since Cad Bane launched his egregious assault on the Senate building, I have taken extra precautions in the interest of my own security.” He lifts a statue situated at the corner of his desk. “They disabled the cameras outside my office, but I had cameras of my own installed in the event of a similar incursion. The recording was taken by forensics for review.”

“Well, who was it?” Anakin demands.

“ _Clones_ ,” Palpatine says, as if he’s shocked by it. “A squad of commandos, to be precise. Their designation is Clone Force Ninety-Nine, but I believe they call themselves the ‘Bad Batch.’ One of your ARC troopers recently joined their ranks, did he not, Captain?”

Rex forces himself to breathe. “Yes, sir,” he says shortly.

Palpatine makes a contemplative face. “He was in the possession of the Techno Union for months,” he says, “feeding them valuable Republic intelligence.”

“No, sir,” Rex says. His chest is on fire. “They wired his brain up to interface with their system and ran their strategic calculations through the algorithm he helped develop and had memorized. He had no choice.”

“He was in the Separatists’ grasp for too long.” Palpatine gives him a sympathetic face, like Echo being labeled a traitor is an unfortunate shame that can’t be helped. “I’m afraid he must have been more compromised than we realized and has convinced these ‘Bad Batchers’ to join his cause.”

Fox steps forward and holds out his hand. A hologram springs up from his palm, figures in motion around the office: scanning the walls, planting the listening devices, and hovering at the door. The hologram freezes and zooms.

It’s too clearly Echo.

“The Coruscant Guard is on high alert,” Fox says. “When we find them, we’ll bring them in.”

“Use whatever force is necessary,” Palpatine says. “They cannot be allowed to betray our most critical data to the Separatists.”

“Excuse me, sir, but I must disagree,” Cody says, before Rex can open his mouth to protest. “If we’re going to get any useful intel from them at all, they must be brought in alive.”

“Commander, I respect your dedication, but ensuring the security of Coruscant and all its citizens must be our top priority.”

“Sir, I agree with Commander Cody,” Rex snaps off. It feels like Fives, all over again. “I know Echo. Let me go with the Guard. He’ll listen to me. I can talk him down.”

“I’m sorry,” Palpatine says. “I cannot authorize that. There is simply far too much at stake.”

“Sir—”

“Rex,” Skywalker says, and Rex clamps his mouth shut. Palpatine gives him an apologetic smile.

“We will apprehend them,” Anakin says. “You have nothing to worry about, Excellency.”

“I would prefer you here, Anakin,” Palpatine says. “If they intend to make an attempt on my life, I would be much surer of my safety with you at my side.”

Apparently, Fox doesn’t count as sufficient security. Or, more likely, Palpatine wants Skywalker’s ear, wants to feed him more of his damned lies. Rex sets his jaw and does his best not to grit his teeth or curl his hand into a fist.

“It’s settled, then,” Windu says. “Skywalker, you stay here with the Chancellor. I will deliver an update to the Council. Master Kenobi and the clones will remain in the Senate building as an extra layer of security.”

“That will not be necessary,” Palpatine begins. Windu holds up a hand to stop him.

“We don’t take threats against your life lightly,” Mace says. “Kenobi and the clones will set up a command center a few levels down to monitor the comms and provide any necessary support.”

Palpatine sighs. “If you feel they would be of the most use here, then I find it pointless to debate. I trust your judgment, Master Jedi.”

Windu nods solemnly. Then he turns on his heel and is gone. Rex follows.

“Oh, Commander Cody,” Palpatine calls, when Cody’s halfway out the door. Cody stops and turns. Rex clenches teeth.

“Sir.”

“I would like to hear your analysis of these recent campaigns,” Palpatine says. “I’ve found your reports on the Outer Rim conflict most informative and enlightening.”

“Perhaps after the commandos have been apprehended, Chancellor,” Cody says politely. “Your wellbeing is our highest priority.”

“Oh, come on, Cody,” Anakin says. “What are you going to do down in a glorified data center?”

“I’m sure I’ll have plenty to do, General,” Cody says, voice clipped. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to commandeer a command center.”

The door hisses shut behind him. Rex falls in step behind Kenobi.

“So,” Rex says, not bothering to hide the smile in his voice. “Refusing a direct request from the Supreme Chancellor.”

Cody snorts. “One of the benefits of being a Marshal Commander,” he says. He casts a glance ahead, at Kenobi. Obi-Wan can’t hear them talking over the helmet comms, but Rex guesses he probably knows what they’re discussing regardless.

“Echo’s gonna be fine, Rex,” Cody says softly. “Clone Force Ninety-Nine is the best unit I’ve ever worked with. They’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah,” Rex says. “I know.”

Somehow, it still doesn’t set his mind at ease.

There’s no way to warn them.

The command center is exactly what Skywalker said it would be: a glorified data center. Cody, it seems, has absolutely no intention of doing anything about the Bad Batch’s alleged treason: he takes a seat, tugs off his helmet, and spends the next three hours poring over datapads with Kenobi.

“What am I supposed to do, exactly?” Rex asks, when he’s paced the room enough times to wear a hole in the floor.

“Wait for an alarm,” Kenobi says wryly. “We can’t do anything until then.”

“We should be out there helping find them, General, not in here waiting for an attack.”

“The Coruscant Guard will apprehend them,” Obi-Wan says.

“They’re not going to apprehend them,” Rex explodes. “They’re going to hunt them down.”

Obi-Wan sets his datapad aside. He somehow manages to look both devastatingly serious and heartbreakingly kind in the same instant. “I know Echo’s your brother,” Kenobi says quietly, “and I know that the last time there was a manhunt for one of your brothers, it ended badly.”

That’s one way of putting it. Rex swallows thickly.

“I will make sure that justice is served,” Obi-Wan says. “I promise you that, Captain.”

“That’s assuming he’s still alive to see it,” Rex hisses.

“Rex,” Cody interrupts. “Head back to the barracks. Check on the others. Come back here with a clear head.”

“I’m fine.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

The sun is sinking below the horizon when Rex gets off the transport at the base. They’re putting noncritical members of the 212th and 501st up in hastily constructed temporary housing, which means a lot of cramped quarters and tired, cranky troopers.

Base medical is overflowing. Some of the housing has been converted to a makeshift bay until they can move some of the wounded to different facilities.

It’s gonna be a hell of a long haul to get everyone back on their feet.

“Rex!”

“Jesse,” Rex says, stopping just short of the barracks door. There are two other figures hurrying after Jesse. He recognizes them as Dogma and Adenn. “What is it?”

“It’s Kix,” Jesse says, wide-eyed and out of breath. “He’s gone.”

\--


	13. The best laid plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fives has a mission.
> 
> Ventress has a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: blood, implied torture

Fox is compromised, Ventress is missing in action, and Echo’s not answering his comm.

This is shaping up to be a great day.

The promenade is crowded; clone or not, it makes it the perfect place to blend it. Fives settles himself on a bench and keeps his eyes trained on the datapad in his lap. So far, no one’s gaze has lingered on him too long.

He’s been doing this off and on for two days since he left the _Havoc Marauder_. Echo finished his op and sent Fives the full update, but since then, he’s been unreachable. He should be available on the secured comm channel.

But he’s not.

“A clone relaxing in a market. How inconspicuous.”

Fives jumps. Ventress blinks, unimpressed. She has her helmet under her arm and one hand propped on her hip.

“Don’t do that,” Fives grumbles, getting to his feet. “You know I hate it when you do that.”

“Maybe you should learn to be more aware of your surroundings,” she suggests mildly. “That might be why you got shot the first time around.”

“Who have you been talking to?” Fives asks, tightening the straps on his pack.

“When a clone goes rogue and gets executed in the sublevels of Coruscant, people hear about it.” Ventress says. There’s an air of faux innocence to her bewildered smile. It’s not a good look. Fives rolls his eyes.

“The intel,” he reminds. “What did you find out?”

“It’s funny, though,” Ventress says, frowning and tilting her head at him. “You still breathe a lot for a man who took a blaster bolt to the chest.”

“I bounce back quick,” he says, deadpan. “You never contacted me. How’d you even find me?”

She scoffs at that. “Comm traffic is being heavily monitored right now,” she says. “It seems a group of clones has been caught conspiring against the Chancellor. Commandos.”

Echo. Fives’ heart is pounding. “Relax,” Ventress says. “There’s an active warrant for their arrest. They’re much better at evading capture than you were.”

He contacted Rex and Skywalker; they didn’t just find him. That’s not her business, though. Fives sets his jaw. “The intel,” he says again.

Ventress rolls her eyes and motions for him to follow. He falls in step beside her. “They didn’t have much,” she says. There’s an undercurrent of annoyance to her tone, like the last few days have been a complete and utter waste of her time. “What did your contacts have?”

“We have to go to the Grand Republic Medical Facility,” Fives says.

“Why?”

“Because that’s where I think the failsafe for the chip activation is kept,” he says. “I have a program that’s designed to counteract the command, but we have to update every trooper’s chip with it and that means beaming the program to all the command center relays across the galaxy. Palpatine has that transmission method somewhere and, based on his movements around Coruscant, we think it’s there.”

“How are you so sure it’s not kept in the Senate building?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” Fives says. She shrugs.

“It’s interesting,” she says. “The one piece of useful information my contacts were able to give me also involves the Facility.”

Fives raises an eyebrow.

“Almost immediately after your not-so-untimely demise, the Facility received a large transfer shipment from a storehouse in The Works district,” she says. “The manifest lists the contents of the shipment as medical supplies.”

The Works is a rundown, abandoned industrial sector of Coruscant. Mostly it houses people that don’t want to be found. “There’s no way it was actually medical supplies,” Fives says.

“Exactly.” There’s an eager gleam in Ventress’ eyes.

“I can draw up an infiltration plan,” Fives says. “My contacts gave me the schematics for the building.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she says. “I already have one.”

* * *

“This is never gonna work.”

“Shut up and try to be a convincing corpse.” Ventress’ face is a blur through the frosted glass. Fives shifts uncomfortably. The transportation coffin is made to house the dead; the comfort of the living wasn’t exactly a design consideration. The tube is painfully narrow. He has to pinch his shoulders together to fit.

_You get the easy part: you just have to pretend to be dead. It shouldn’t be too hard: you’ve already tried it once._

“Funny,” Fives mumbles. Ventress slaps her hand over the glass. Fives snaps his mouth shut and closes his eyes. Just channel Rex when he first gets up in the morning: that should be a good enough approximation of a corpse to fool anyone.

“Found this one in an alley,” he hears Ventress say, then something unintelligible from the security guard. “No, I don’t care if clones are usually brought here. The base’s medical facilities are overflowing. They don’t have the space. Do I look like I’ve scanned his identification chip yet? I’m just here to drop him off for an autopsy. The medical examiner will take care of the ID. That’s not my job.”

The guard says something else. Ventress slams her hand down on the coffin. She must have hit some of the keys on the control pad because the pod’s vents start hissing coolant and the temperature starts to drop. Fives does his best not to shiver. Just breathe. Just breathe.

 _Shab_ , that’s cold.

He’s two seconds from pounding on the lid when the coffin starts moving: down a corridor, around a corner, two, stop.

The lid slides back.

“That took longer than I expected,” Ventress says. She looks him up and down. “What happened to you?”

“You hit the temperature controls when you were throwing your tantrum,” Fives growls, shaking out his limbs. Cold. Cold. _Shab_. Cold.

“Oh. Unfortunate.” She tugs on the zipper of her jumpsuit and rolls her shoulders uncomfortably. The getup is a simple gray, but so baggy and ill-fitting it’s garish. Fives chokes a laugh.

“What’s funny?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

“That’s a good look for you,” he says. “You should wear it the next time you see Kenobi.”

“My contacts supplied me with it,” Ventress grits out, low and measured. “This and the credentials are the only reason we got in the door.”

“I’m sure you could’ve convinced them without it,” Fives says. “You have such a winning personality.”

“I have a new plan,” Ventress says. “I leave you in the pod to work on your jokes and I complete the mission myself.”

She says it so seriously Fives isn’t completely convinced she’s being sarcastic. He clears his throat. “Tel Daneb’s office is on the highest level,” he says. “If your credentials are good, we can just take the turbolift.”

“Because you’ll blend in so well.”

“Then we better move fast.”

No one stops them when they board the turbolift. The corridor it opens into has low lighting; it’s silent and empty. The director has the entire floor to himself, so the list of people with the authorization to interrupt their incursion is relatively small.

Those are better odds than they had on Raxus.

Ventress waves a hand over the access panel and steps through. Fives follows her. She motions to the chair. “After you.”

Fives scowls.

“Don’t,” he says, stabbing his finger at her as he sits down. “I can turn the _shabla_ chair around myself.”

“I would never.”

The chair whips around, and not because he moved it on his own. At least he braced for it this time. Fives shoots her a glare and plugs in the drive. Echo said Tech coded it to hack the system and seek out the appropriate program: if the failsafe is here, it’ll find it.

“You do know what you’re looking for?” Ventress asks dryly.

“I had a little help this time,” Fives shoots back.

“I helped you last time.”

“No, you threatened my life. There’s a difference.”

“I didn’t threaten you. I encouraged you to explain.” She makes a face. “There’s a difference.”

Fives rolls his eyes. Tech’s drive must have found the access key to the system; the data terminal boots up and logs on.

No sense wasting an opportunity. Fives moves to tap a file. Ventress’ hand closes around his wrist just before he contacts the screen.

“No surprises this time,” she says coolly. “Look. Don’t copy.”

Fives yanks his arm away and cuts her a glare. The files have finished populating. There are thousands; he whips through them. Most are medical documents for Coruscant’s upper echelon, the Senators and politicians that have the credits to afford care in a place like this.

Tech’s program hasn’t found anything yet.

Fives pauses, then pulls up the search function. “What are you doing?” Ventress asks warily.

“He did something to Fox,” Fives says. “I want to find out what it was.”

“Fox?”

Fives doesn’t answer her. CC-1010. There shouldn’t be any results; he’s hoping there aren’t any results; he and Tup were the only clones technically treated here, and neither of them received anything close to top-quality care. Tup got another autopsy. Fives got a death sentence.

_CC-1010: one result found._

Fives throat tightens. He taps the folder. The first document is labeled _Reconditioning notes_ , the next _Outprocessing_. He curls his hand into a fist. It hurts to breathe. He doesn’t want to read it. He has to.

Fives opens the first file.

“A friend of yours?” Ventress asks. Her voice is quiet.

“Yeah,” Fives croaks. He can only make himself skim the material. Only required one cycle: no iteration necessary. Displays loyal and compliant behavior. Meets required standards for service.

The reconditioning rumors that circulated around Kamino said that you went in as one person and came out as another, like a blank slate, but the reality was that you went in as one person and came out a traumatized version of the same. They pulled you to pieces and took out the parts they didn’t like as many times as it took to destroy whatever memory or behavioral pattern was causing the defiance. Fives knew a trainee in his batch that couldn’t keep his mouth shut. They sent him to reconditioning and when he came back from all the neural editing and memory manipulation, he didn’t know who his brothers were, didn’t know what his favorite ration was, didn’t know his name was Zeke and panicked when someone called him by it. He went by his CT number until he was killed in a training exercise.

He had such a vacant smile.

Fives glances at Ventress, and even through the choking rage he’s too aware that there are tears in his eyes. She has the decency not to comment on it.

And she doesn’t say anything else.

The drive blips. The files close. The screen is suddenly full of lines of scrolling code. Then it starts listing transmission logistics, faster and faster until he can’t read them anymore.

It’s sending out the messages. It’s transmitting the program.

It’s disabling the chips.

“We found it,” Fives says, hoarse for his disbelief. He chokes a laugh. “It’s actually transmitting.”

“How long until it’s finished?” Ventress asks. “This isn’t our only objective.”

Right. The shipment of ‘medical supplies.’ “Not long,” Fives says. “I hope.”

“With the number of communications it’s sending, they’re not going to miss it,” Ventress hisses. “We won’t have a lot of time.”

“We have to stay until it finishes.”

“I’m _aware_.”

Fives shoots to his feet and waits – waits – strains to hear. The hall is silent. No pounding footsteps. No thunderous rush. They’re safe.

For now.

“Done,” Fives says, as soon as the screen goes blank. He pulls the drive and tucks it into his utility belt. “We can go.”

The terminal shuts down. Fives follows Ventress back to the turbolift. She slams the button for the lowest level.

It’s supposed to be storage, so he expects a warehouse or a large room stacked with boxes, but when the door opens, it opens into a complex. Fives is hit by a shockwave so potent and overpowering he almost stumbles for its force. There’s a weight on his chest, pressing down on him, crushing him.

The air tastes like death.

Ventress looks less affected. That gleam is back in her eyes, but it’s more subdued, intrigued instead of eager. “It will pass,” she says, and steps off the lift. Fives doesn’t ask what she means.

It’s the _shabla_ Force again.

“You knew,” he says, following after her. She _hmms_ thoughtfully. “You knew I could – sense things.”

“Before you did, yes,” Ventress says. She stops in front of a door and palms it open. Fives takes a shuddery breath. He can’t breathe right. Creeping tendrils. Sickness. Disease. A rasp in the back of his mind, laughing at his screams.

“Breathe,” Ventress says. “It will pass.”

“You keep saying that,” Fives chokes. “Doesn’t feel like it’s passing.”

“That’s because you’re panicking,” she says. “Feel it and let it go.”

He takes a measured breath. Two. Again. “What is it?” he asks, when some of the oppressive weight has lifted.

“The dark side,” she says, like that explains everything, and steps through the door. The lights detect her motion and snap on, one at a time. The room is wider and deeper than it looks from the outside; the durasteel that makes up the walls is covered over by an obsidian stone that gleams beneath the dim beams. There are various pedestals placed around the space; all of them display old Sith artifacts and weapons.

Almost all of them.

“That’s my ARC kit,” Fives hisses. It’s been repaired and restored to perfect condition – and it’s propped up like a trophy. He crosses the distance and snatches the helmet off the mount.

“ _Hut’uun_ ,” Five snarls. Rex gave him this armor, all smiles and bursting pride. He first painted it with Echo. After the Citadel, he redid parts of it with Tup and Jesse and Kix and Hardcase.

Palpatine has no right to it.

Ventress is enraptured by a different display. Fives sheds his civilian gear, shoves it in his pack, and secures the armor over the GAR-issue bodysuit he’s taken to wearing under everything. It’s a rote process, after so many years and repetitions. It takes him less than three minutes.

“Inconspicuous,” Ventress says, when he strides over to stand beside her. She tosses him something pyramidal.

The second he touches it, he hears the voice. It’s not a distant whisper, like before; it’s harsh, slithering, and insistent, a cacophony of chaos given physical form.

He drops it immediately.

“It’s a holocron,” Fives says, shaking his hand like he’s been burned. The skin beneath his glove feels blistered, angry and red, but he knows if he peels the armor away he’ll find his hand is perfectly fine.

 _Shabla_ Force.

“A Sith holocron,” Ventress agrees, and picks it up. She closes her eyes.

“I really don’t think we should open that,” Fives says.

Ventress pays him no heed. The holocron separates with a hiss like a scream and Fives rips his helmet off as if the screech is physical feedback he can somehow stop at the source. The pieces swirl in her hand, a shattered symphony, and settle back together. The scream fades slowly, roiling into a death knell that makes him flinch.

It sounds too much like Tup’s last breath.

“Was that necessary?” Fives hisses.

“Quiet,” Ventress says. A hologram flickers to life and begins to speak; it’s a hooded figure droning on to some apprentice about the end of the Jedi being nigh and about the dawn of a new and glorious age being all but upon them.

He knows that voice.

 _The Jedi will fall._ _And in the end, I, Lord Sidious, will rule over it all. I will be Emperor._

The figure throws his hood back and Fives feels a shiver run down his spine.

Palpatine twists his mouth into a wide and chilling smile. The hologram disappears. Ventress reassembles the holocron and holds it out.

“You wanted evidence,” she says, and Fives takes it and quickly tucks it into a pouch on his utility belt.

“Now we just have to live long enough to get it to someone that can use it,” he says, but Ventress has already turned away. Fives follows her gaze.

It’s the Mandalorian helmet from the Jedi holocron. Below it rests a chestplate, gauntlets, and shoulder pauldrons. “Revan’s armor,” Fives says. “What’s it doing here?”

“Revan was a powerful Jedi and Sith,” Ventress says. “She wore this mask for acts of heroism and acts of atrocity. Sidious is drawing strength from the death it has witnessed.”

“We need to go.”

Ventress doesn’t seem to have heard him. She lifts Revan’s helmet with something like reverence and sets it aside. Then she shrugs out of the jumpsuit and tugs the armor on over her bounty hunting garb.

“Inconspicuous,” Fives says.

Ventress raises her eyebrows. “You’d prefer I left it here for Sidious?” she asks.

“Not if he’s drawing power from it.”

Ventress stares at the helmet in her hands. Then, slowly, she lowers it over her head.

“Your sense of style is improving,” Fives says. “ _Beskar’gam’s_ always a classic.”

She snorts. “We’re running out of time.”

That’s what he’s been saying, not that she’s been listening. Fives leads them out. The card from Ventress’ contacts still grants them passage to the turbolift. He keys in the main floor; the turbolift will bring them back to the hallway by the morgue: if they’re lucky, the place will be just as quiet and they’ll be able to sneak out without being seen.

Almost the instant they step onto the floor, an alarm blares.

“ _Shab_ ,” Fives says. “They must have discovered the communications.”

Ventress holds out a hand to stop him. “No,” she says. “They wouldn’t sound an alarm for that. They’d quietly put the building into lockdown. They haven’t done that. It’s not us.”

“Then who the hell is it for?”

There’s a sudden blast of weapons fire in the distance. Either someone got their hands on a heavy repeater or there are a lot of people with a lot of guns chasing whoever else was brave or stupid enough to infiltrate this facility.

“You are _not_ reconditioning me!” It’s a hoarse and ragged scream, bleeding desperation. “I told you, I don’t know anything!”

Fives’ blood runs cold.

It’s another clone.

He’s off and sprinting before he can think twice. If Ventress says anything by way of protest, he doesn’t hear her. It’s another clone. A brother.

There’s no other choice.

The weapons fire is louder, close. He’s almost on top of it. There haven’t been any more cries. He’s close. He’s close. He’s close.

The firing stops. His heart drops. Too close. Too late.

He can’t be too late. Not again.

Fives whips around the corner. Time slows to a stop. There’s a firing squad of Senate guards lined up. The clone is leaning against the wall, heaving. His bodysuit is scarred, slashed and sticking and charred. There’s a gash on the back of his head, weeping blood. He’s holding his hands up in front of him like somehow, through sheer force of will, he’ll be able to stop the oncoming onslaught.

“I’m sorry, Fives,” he says. “I tried.”

The squad raises their blasters. In the space of a second, Fives knows. Terror wells in his chest, suffocating. Not enough time. Not enough time. He remembers the _Havoc Marauder_ , remembers the pain.

And he remembers the shattering rage.

“Kix!” Fives roars, “get _down!_ ”

Kix drops. Fives sets his feet and throws his hands forward and wills the raw and screaming fear into a surging tide. It feels like blistering flame, it burns like scathing fire, swelling from his palms until it fills the space – and detonates.

It slams into the Senate Guards like a shockwave, ripping their blasters from their hands and throwing them down the corridor. The guards hit the floor in a shower of sickening cracks – and stay still.

Kix eases himself up on his elbows. Fives drops to his knees beside him and tugs his helmet off. Not much time. Have to get out. Have to get out. “Kix,” Fives says, taking hold of his shoulders. “ _Kix_.”

Kix stares blankly at him for a long moment. Then it hits him. He yelps a shrill scream and flails against Fives’ grip, scrambling to put a few feet of space between them. Fives holds tight.

“Kix,” he snaps, “it’s me. It’s Fives!”

“I know!” Kix yells, wide-eyed and heaving to breathe. “But in case you didn’t notice, you died!”

Rex and Cody and Echo didn’t tell anyone else, then. It makes sense, even if it makes Fives’ chest ache to think about it. “I know,” Fives says, squeezing his shoulders. “I know. You thought I died. But I didn’t. Okay? It’s me, Kix. It’s Fives.”

Kix chokes a breath that’s dangerously close to a sob. His gaze is wild and unfocused. For the first time, Fives can see the dark circles beneath his bloodshot eyes and the blood dripping down his chin.

He was in a hell of a fight.

“Fives,” Kix says, and Fives nods. Kix takes a deep breath. Another. “Fives.”

“If you two could bear to wrap up the reunion, we need to leave,” Ventress hisses, suddenly behind him.

Kix’s eyes blow wide. He struggles again. “No,” Five says, pulling him back. “No, no, no. She’s – she’s with me. She’s working with me.”

“You’re working with _Ventress?_ ” Kix explodes. His head snaps to Ventress, to Fives, back to Ventress, back to Fives. “Fives, you can’t work with Ventress.”

“I – I know, Kix,” Fives manages. Ventress snorts.

“I took out the guards moving in to flank you,” she says. She looks disdainfully at the groaning heap further down the hall. “I see you left yours alive as well.”

“Look,” Fives says, tugging his helmet back on. “I need you to trust me right now. Can you do that?”

Kix doesn’t give him an answer, but he doesn’t resist Fives pulling his arm around his shoulders and helping him to his feet. “Does Rex know?” Kix asks. “That you’re alive. And working with Ventress.”

“Yeah,” Fives says, and immediately regrets it.

“Rex knew and he didn’t tell me?” Kix snaps. “Why?”

“Long story. I promise I’ll explain later. For now, come _on_.”

The alarms are still blaring as they make their way down the hall, but they don’t encounter any more patrols. There should be more guards; there should be more resistance.

Their path to the exit is clear.

“Wait, Ventress says, when Fives reaches for the door controls. “Let me go first.”

She ignites her sabers – no, not her sabers, Revan’s sabers – and keys the controls. For a beat before the door slides open, their way is lit only by the blades: crackling crimson and amaranthine.

“Clear,” Ventress says, and Fives follows her out onto the landing platform. Kix is heavy against his side.

“You still with me, Kix?”

“Yeah,” Kix coughs. “Yeah. I’m okay. I’m okay.”

They’re halfway to the medical transport when the sky opens up.

“Get down!” Ventress barks, and Fives drops Kix and throws himself over him. Ventress is in front of them, deflecting bolts back at the guards, back at the security skiffs, back at the forces Palpatine has sent to apprehend them, because between the explosions of the starfighters Ventress has downed and the adrenaline ringing in his ears, he has to be hearing things. He has to be wrong.

There are no Separatist ships on Coruscant.

“Get to cover!” Ventress orders. Fives grabs Kix under the arms and drags him behind the transport.

“Are those droids?” Kix demands. His eyes are too wide, too bright. Fives clutches one of his hands between both of his own.

“Looks like it,” he says.

“Rex,” Kix says. “We have to contact Rex. We have to warn him.”

And tell him Kix is safe and alive. “Yeah,” Fives says. He doesn’t like the way Kix’s gaze unfocuses. “Hey,” he says, patting a hand against Kix’s cheek. “Hey. You’re okay, right? Where are you hurt?”

“I got hit in the head,” Kix snorts, batting him away. “I have a mild concussion but I’ll be all right. I’m a medic.”

Fives doesn’t waste his breath explaining that medics are not immune to injuries just because they happen to know how to properly treat them. He pulls up the communicator in his helmet and codes it to the proper frequency. This bucket hasn’t been turned on in a while but it’s still in functional condition.

“Rex,” Fives says. “Tell me you can hear me.”

 _“Fives!”_ There’s a battle behind him, yelling, someone screaming, Rex firing back. _“The Separatists are launching an assault on Coruscant. They have an invasion force.”_

“Yeah, I got that. I’ve also got Kix.”

_“Kix?”_

“Long story. Explain later,” Fives says. “He’s gonna be okay. The chips are down.”

Rex gives a disbelieving laugh. _“You found the failsafe?”_

“Yeah,” Fives says. “Protocol Sixty-Six is through.”

 _“That still leaves us with a problem,”_ Rex snaps. _“The main Separatist force is making its way to the Senate building. Generals Skywalker and Windu are convinced that the Chancellor is the primary target. If they get to him—”_

Rex cuts himself off with a grunt. There’s a scuffle, a growl, and three blaster bolts. _“If he wants them to get to him, then he has to have a plan to get back. He’ll blame Clone Force Ninety-Nine for the security breach.”_

Palpatine getting kidnapped gets him sympathy, gives him sway, and weakens any accusations leveled at him in the aftermath. Calling out his treason would get them shouted down. At best, they’d be labeled conspiracy theorists – at worst, traitors. And Echo and the Bad Batch get caught in the crossfire. Fives sets his jaw.

“We can’t let the Separatists get to him,” he says.

 _“I know,”_ Rex says. _“Meet me at the Senate building.”_

“Why?”

_“Because,”_ Rex says, _“we’re going to get there first.”_

\--


	14. No surrender, no retreat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coruscant is under attack. They're out of time. They have to confront the enemy.
> 
> They have to confront Palpatine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: brief mentions of blood

The thought alone feels like a betrayal.

He has to tell Kenobi – about the chips, about the Chancellor’s treason: all of it. They’ll have to confront Palpatine if they’re going to arrest him and Cody doesn’t like to think about how many of them will die if they try it alone and the Chancellor refuses to go.

_I won’t bury you too, Rex. Not when I can help it._

Cody keeps his breathing steady and even; Kenobi can detect his anxiety through the bond, he knows, but the last thing he needs to do is send a surging spike of it straight into his _jetii’s_ brain before he’s ready to raise the subject of its source.

If he’s ever ready.

Just do it already.

Cody slaps his datapad down onto the table with a decisive _thwap_. Kenobi jolts slightly.

“I need to tell you something,” Cody blurts.

Obi-Wan frowns and sets his own datapad aside. “Of course,” he says, folding his hands on the table between them. Cody gets a muted flash of concern, then a tidal wave of serenity. “What is it, Commander?”

 _The Chancellor is a traitor_. Too blunt. Too unsupported. He doubts Obi-Wan would ship him off to the psychiatric ward for one wayward comment, but it certainly wouldn’t help him build his case.

“I’ll be honest with you,” Cody says slowly. “It’s going to sound – well, insane.”

Kenobi’s smile is warm. “Perhaps you forget,” he says, “that Anakin was my padawan. If you can manage to top one of his stories, I will be very surprised.”

Cody coughs something like a laugh and tries to say _Fives was right_ , but the words never break the open air. There’s smoke in his eyes and dust in his mouth and his ears are ringing and he’s on the ground, slapping around blindly for his helmet so he can see.

“Kenobi,” he croaks. Even with the bond, time and training demand a vocal response. There’s a gust of wind; he realizes dimly that the wall is gone. The data center is on fire.

His ears aren’t ringing: those are alarms.

Cody heaves a rattling breath. No answer. No answer. Can’t see. Remember to breathe.

“ _Kenobi!_ ”

“I’m here, Cody,” Obi-Wan calls back. It’s muffled, but it’s there and it’s strong. Kenobi’s boots appear in his line of vision and then he’s being hauled to his feet. Kenobi hands him his helmet; he tugs it on. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Cody snaps, kicking through the rubble until he finds his DC-15. “What was that?”

Kenobi leans out the jagged hole in the wall and Cody resists the urge to yank him back away from the edge. “Stray droid starfighter,” Obi-Wan says dryly. “Or what was left of one by the time it made it to the building.”

“Droid starfighter?” Cody demands.

There are no droid ships here. He must have hit his head; he must be concussed and hallucinating. Cody lifts his eyes; his breath catches in his throat. The sky is burning.

It’s a Separatist invasion force.

“Coruscant is under attack.” Kenobi’s voice is tense. He steps back away from the window and slaps at his commlink until it shines a faint green. “Anakin! Anakin, can you hear me?”

 _“Just barely,”_ Anakin says. _“The Chancellor is secure in his office. Some of the Guard just reported that General Grievous is making his way to the Senate complex. I’m on my way to stop him.”_

“We’ll rendezvous with you,” Kenobi shoots back. “Wait for us.”

_“No time. Master Windu contacted me. The Council believes the Chancellor is the primary target. The main body of the Separatist force is headed this way. Get ready to repel them. I’ll take care of Grievous.”_

“Understood,” Kenobi bites out. The line goes dead. He looks to Cody. “We need to get up there.”

Cody’s heart is pounding. If the Chancellor is the primary target, then it’s because he set himself up to be. He’ll have a plan to get back, and then, when he’s safe and it’s all over and the Republic is looking for someone to blame the security breach on, he’ll have his execution block for Echo and the Bad Batch and the immunity to deflect any accusation – maybe frame it as a Jedi lie. Then he activates the chips.

And everyone dies.

No time. Kenobi’s already in the hall. Cody sprints after him.

They’re halfway to the turbolift when the pods hit, boring into the side of the building and loosing their hordes: line after line of battle droids. Kenobi’s lightsaber is in his hand and humming a cutting blue. He charges. Cody follows him.

Just keep firing.

Just keep firing.

 _“Cody,”_ Rex barks over his comm; he’s on the line they set up for their own communication, not the one available to their squads. Treason business, then. _“Tell me you’re not dead.”_

“Little busy, Rex,” Cody snarls, twisting a droid’s head from its body and slamming his rifle’s barrel into the next. Fire. Fire. Down.

_“The main invasion force is heading for Palpatine.”_

“I know, Rex.”

_“We have to get there first.”_

“I know, Rex.”

 _“I got in contact with Echo. Ninety-Nine is on their way. So is Fives.”_ Rex is quiet for a moment; there’s not much background noise, save for the occasional distant explosion. He must be on a gunship. _“We’ll get one shot at this.”_

“Worse comes to worse,” Cody snaps, “you know the plan.”

_“I told Jesse and Dogma.”_

He doesn’t have the time or the breath to ask how they took it; at this point, it doesn’t matter – just like Rex contacting Clone Force Ninety-Nine while everyone is gunning for their heads.

They need the reinforcements.

Cody drops his shoulder and slams his body into a super battle droid. It stumbles. He puts one blast in its central processor.

It drops.

Kenobi’s cleared the hostiles further down. The hallway is a graveyard of droid parts. A few of them are on fire. Kenobi’s hair is mussed; there’s a streak of blood on his cheek. He’s breathing hard.

Cody jolts.

Half a B1 on the floor is raising its rifle toward Kenobi. Cody stretches out a hand and snaps it into a fist. The droid’s head crumples.

The rifle drops.

Kenobi glances over his shoulder. “Nicely done,” he says. “I think I owe you one.”

“I think I owe you a few more than one, General.”

Obi-Wan shrugs.

_“We’re dropping in now. Rendezvous on the Chancellor’s level. We’ll take him together.”_

Cody knows the hard note in his voice: Rex is driven by desperation, bleakly clawing at hope. He has no _shabla_ plan for the Sith.

No one does.

“Cody, we need to go. Now. Before they dispatch more pods to this level or knock out the turbolift.” Kenobi’s hand is firm on his shoulder. “Cody?”

He can’t watch any more of his brothers die.

“Fives was right,” Cody says, before he can make himself think twice. He rips off his helmet and drops it. “Fives was right about everything.”

There’s a pulse of vivid confusion through the bond. “What?”

“The chips. The Chancellor. All of it. Fives was right,” Cody hisses.

“Cody, slow down, you’re not making any—”

“Palpatine’s a _shabla_ Sith.”

“ _Cody!_ ” Obi-Wan snaps, but Cody doesn’t stop – can’t stop. Too close. So far. Fives’ fall. Rex’s cry. Echo’s hell. Waxer, choking on his own blood while Boil clutched him and cried. Every man in his command he ever lost for this woven war. Every scream. Every sobbing breath. Every hand he held. Every _you’re gonna be okay_ he said while the truth of the lie pressed at the corners of his eyes.

No one else dies.

“The Chancellor is a traitor,” Cody snarls. “To the Republic, to the Jedi, and to every clone. He had us made so he could use us like fodder in a war he engineered.”

Kenobi’s staring at him in wide-eyed shock. Maybe worry. Cody’s too full of fire to care which it is. Their bond is an inferno. “There is a chip in my head,” he says, “and if it activates, I will turn this blaster on you and I will kill you.”

“The chip Fives was looking into,” Obi-Wan says slowly. “It’s not an aggression inhibitor.”

“No,” Cody says. “Fives wasn’t crazy. It wasn’t a virus. It’s not an inhibitor. It was a cover-up. Palpatine is planning to wipe out the Jedi and he’s going to use the clones to do it.”

Kenobi doesn’t look convinced – just concerned. Troubled. His unease rolls off him in dark waves. Cody heaves a strangled breath.

It haunts him late at night, a specter of a fear he’s afraid to give a name. He’s at Kenobi’s side, pressing toward the enemy lines. Then he hears the mission like a dream – _Execute Order Sixty-Six_ – and he’s raising his weapon and blowing blast after blast into Kenobi’s back. There are tears on his cheeks but his eyes are dry; there’s grief in his voice but it’s all just deafening silence. He can’t speak. He can’t move. He can’t even cry.

He can only fire.

Kenobi’s lightsaber is deactivated but still in his hand. Cody takes careful hold of his wrist and guides it so the live end of the hilt is pressed against his chestplate.

“If you don’t believe me, then end it now, Obi-Wan,” Cody says hoarsely, wrapping both his hands around Kenobi’s wrist. “Because I would rather die than betray the man who has stood as a brother at my side.”

Kenobi searches his face for a long moment. Then a wave of cooling serenity flows through the bond; Cody doesn’t know if Kenobi did it for his own benefit or for Cody’s but he lets it seep into his chest and soothe the screaming ache in his soul.

“All right,” Obi-Wan says, gently prying his lightsaber from Cody’s grip. _It’s all right._ “We will arrest the Chancellor before Grievous’ forces can reach him. Once we’ve repelled the invasion, we can deal with the fallout.”

“He’s a Sith,” Cody says, replacing his helmet. “He won’t come quietly.”

Obi-Wan’s face is grim. “I know,” he says, and Cody remembers the recording. Remembers the phantom menace.

For all the chaos raging outside, the lift ride is silent.

Rex, Jesse, and Dogma are just emerging from the lift opposite them. A shadow shifts to Cody’s right. He jumps.

Fives.

No, not just Fives. He’s not alone. There’s a woman in Mandalorian kit at his side – and a shiny that has smudged red medic symbols slashed onto each of his shoulder pauldrons; it look like he drew them on with a marker.

“Fives,” Cody says, and nods at the others. “Who’s the shiny?”

The shiny tugs his helmet off. “It’s Kix,” he grumbles, and waves a hand to the armor. “I borrowed this from a medical transport. It’s temporary.”

“Ventress,” Obi-Wan says. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

In an instant every blaster except Kix’s and Fives’ is trained on her. Fives reaches out and pushes Rex’s pistols down. “She’s on our side,” he says, annoyed. “Just trust me on this.”

“Why are you working with Ventress?” Jesse demands. “You can’t work with Ventress.”

“That’s what I told him,” Kix says. Jesse snorts and crosses his arms. Dogma stiffens.

“Leave it,” Rex says. “We can use the help.”

As if he hadn’t just had Ventress in his sights. Cody glances at Obi-Wan; Kenobi gives him a small smile and quirks a brow. There’s a burst of confusion.

_Fives. Alive?_

There’ll be plenty of time for explanations when all of this is over.

It’s Rex who starts down the hall first. Cody steps up beside him and ignores the way Ventress mutters, “Finally.” Fives takes up a position to Rex’s right.

They move as one.

It’s not a long corridor but with the emergency lighting flickering overhead and the way his heart is pounding in his chest, it seems eternal. Cody tightens his grip on his blaster and feels another wave of calm flood the bond. It’s different than before, a familiar prelude instead of pacification.

When he feels the electric focus, it’s not a surprise.

“Get out of my head,” Fives hisses at the same time Ventress asks, “When did you become so adept at battle meditation, Kenobi?”

The web fades away. “I’m sorry, Fives,” Obi-Wan says softly. “I didn’t mean—”

“Just stay out of my head, General,” Fives says shortly. Rex tilts his helmet toward him slightly. Fives rests a hand on his shoulder.

“Something you need to tell us, Fives?” Cody asks.

“You first, Commander.”

“Please tell me you have a plan for confronting the most powerful Sith of the current era,” Ventress interrupts. “We’re not just going to walk in there and say ‘you’re under arrest.’”

There’s a dead silence.

“Oh, we are,” she says. “Wonderful. I’m sure that will go over stunningly.”

“We have a fair chance,” Obi-Wan points out. “If we take him together.”

Ventress snorts.

“He wanted you dead, right?” Fives says. “That must have been for a reason.”

“Because you, of course, would know all about that.”

“I don’t have to know the Force to know fear when I see it.”

They round the curve and nearly run over a Guard patrol. There are three of them; Cody recognizes them as Rys, Jek, and Thire.

“Sir,” Thire says slowly, “what are you doing on this level? There’s an invasion happening outside. We’re on full lockdown.”

“We’ve been assigned to protect the Chancellor,” Cody says briskly. “Stand aside.”

The three Guardsmen shift uncomfortably. Their eyes fall on Ventress. For all they know she could be another Jedi behind her helmet. “That wasn’t a suggestion,” Cody says. “Get down to the ground level and reinforce our defenses. We’ll handle security here.”

This time, they obey. It’s a small relief: it’s strange to say they’re safer with blaster bolts flying at their heads than standing guard up here, but at least if the fight spills out into the hall they won’t be collateral.

No on else dies.

Palpatine’s door is large and ornate. Cody’s never found it ominous until this moment.

“He’ll know we’re coming,” Obi-Wan says. “Be prepared for anything.”

The door swings wide. Palpatine is seated at his desk with his hands folded. There’s a knowing smile on his face that sends a chill down Cody’s spine.

The air is so still it’s deafening.

Fives steps to the front. He reaches for his belt and then holds his right arm forward. There’s a telltale click, then an all-too-familiar hiss. A dual blade springs to life, pale, crackling gold.

“Sheev Palpatine,” Fives says, “you are under arrest for acts of treason against the Republic.”

Palpatine steeples his fingers. Fox is a silent force behind him. Cody’s breath catches in his throat. They can set their weapons to stun but there’s no guarantee that that’ll have any effect on a Sith lord; with all the blaster fire, the odds are not good that Fox will survive.

“That’s a very serious accusation,” Palpatine says calmly. “I do hope you have some evidence.”

“Stand up and put your hands on your head,” Fives orders. “We’re taking you in.”

Palpatine rises slowly. “This is treason,” he says lowly. Cody gets a sudden electric surge through the bond, a flood of peace and acuity. Kenobi’s lightsaber hums on. Ventress follows suit.

“I’m not going to ask you again,” Fives says. Rex moves to stand beside him; his aim is level, unshaking.

The glass shatters in a shower behind Palpatine, strong enough to throw Fox forward. Clone Force Ninety-Nine rappels through the opening.

Palpatine doesn’t flinch.

For an instant, there’s just the rasp of Cody’s own breath in his ears and Kenobi’s cool assurance in his chest. For an instant, Fives and Palpatine are locked in silent combat.

For an instant, time itself stands still.

Then Palpatine looses a cry; his twin sabers sing to life, murderous crimson. Cody’s on his feet and then the ground is rumbling beneath him like a quake and he’s flailing through the air and slamming hard into the floor.

 _Shab_.

Cody scrambles back up, dimly aware the others are doing the same all around him. The Bad Batch came out the worst: Hunter and Crosshair went flying over the side and are clinging to the window’s frame for dear life.

“Get them back in here,” Cody snaps, and Dogma, Jesse, and Kix rush to cover them.

“We’ve got incoming!” Rex barks. Cody follows his line of sight to the Separatist gunships rising from the horizon. The troop bays clatter open; the swarm converges. Hunter and Crosshair have just gotten their footing when the super battle droids breach the window.

“Hold them here!” Cody orders.

“What about Fives?” Echo demands. There’s fear in his voice, tensely controlled. Rex doesn’t turn or stop firing, but Cody knows the same question is on his mind.

Palpatine lunged for Fives first. A glance through the door tells him that Fives has been driven back into the corridor and that Kenobi and Ventress have engaged the Sith alongside him, dancing around one another in a flurry of movement. Palpatine blocks each of their blows with effortless fluidity, as if he knows where each of them is going to land before his opponents have decided themselves.

“No one will be helping Fives if we get outflanked,” Cody snaps. “Hold those droids here. I’ll run support.”

They don’t ask him what he’s planning and he doesn’t volunteer the information. Cody’s not sure he knows: what’s he going to do, shoot Palpatine in the back?

A silver glint catches his eye. Obi-Wan dropped his _shabla_ lightsaber again. He barely stops to pick it up. He’s close now, almost to them – but the sound of clashing sabers is less, less, and then – gone.

He sees it all in the space of a second.

Kenobi’s hovering high, grasping at his throat. Ventress is frozen, armor rippling and hissing with the force of the lightning crackling over it. Fives is on the ground, coughing and clawing his way back to his feet – get up, get up, get up.

There, cackling in the center of the chaos, is Palpatine.

The bond is fire and shattering pain. Cody doesn’t stop to think. There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no passion; there is only serenity.

Kenobi can’t breathe.

Cody skids to a stop, sets his feet, and throws his hands forward and wills the Force into a surging tide. It rises and swells in the blink of an eye, building in his palms until he releases it in a shockwave.

Palpatine staggers.

Kenobi and Ventress drop.

Obi-Wan’s lightsaber hisses to life in his hand. Cody lunges. Palpatine whips around to deflect the blow. There’s a maniacal sheen to his eyes; he fights with a frenzied fury, driving Cody back toward the central chamber.

Back toward the battle.

Back toward his brothers.

Their blades clash, lock, and suddenly Cody’s thrown backward. He lands with a sickening crack he hopes is armor and not bone. Palpatine leaps after him, robes flowing, sabers flashing and held overhead for the kill. Move. Move. Have to move.

Can’t move.

Can’t see.

Just breathe.

“Cody!”

The hit never lands. There’s a sheen of seething gold just above his visor, a barrier to Palpatine’s strike.

Fives.

“Move!” Fives snaps, strained, and Cody rolls to the side, clawing at the wall to drag himself upright. There are pounding footsteps pulsing toward them.

Ventress rages into the fray with a ragged scream. Palpatine flings Fives back with a push of the hand and spins to meet the whirlwind.

“Kenobi!” Cody barks, still half doubled over, and throws his saber.

Obi-Wan catches it mid-stride; then he’s at Ventress’ side. They offset one another: one-two, swing, step, back, one-two. Palpatine stumbles and flips away, propelling himself over their heads and landing near the end of the corridor.

“Fools,” Palpatine hisses, spinning to face them with sabers crossed. “You think y—”

Palpatine chokes a gasp. It takes Cody a second to register the snap of a blaster’s discharge.

Fox is clinging to the doorframe to stay upright. His helmet is gone. His eyes are desperate and wide. He has one hand outstretched, clutching one of his pistols.

“ _Aruetii_ ,” he manages, and collapses.

Palpatine’s struggling for breath. He looses a long, strangled screech. “Fools,” he says. His lightsabers fall from his hands. He drops to his knees and coughs, coughs, screams. “ _Fools._ I am _Sidious_ , I will not be—”

Fives whips out his pistol and fires: one shot, head-on.

Palpatine slumps.

“That was for Tup,” Fives says. He twirls his pistol and replaces it in its holster.

Cody eases to stand. Fives kneels beside Fox and helps him to his feet. The battle has died down in the Chancellor’s office. There’re a few final shots and what sounds like Wrecker stomping on a droid – then nothing at all.

The room is a disaster, but as far as he can see, there are no bodies.

“Status report,” Cody says. “Sound off.”

“No casualties,” Crosshair volunteers mildly. “Is that good enough for you, Commander?”

“Where’s Palpatine?” Echo demands.

“Dead,” Ventress says. She sounds satisfied.

Echo stiffens. He turns his gaze to Fives. “That’s your contact?” he asks slowly.

“Not you too,” Fives says, easing Fox to the floor. Kix is beside him immediately. “C’mon, Echo. Just trust me.”

Cody shakes his head and kicks at one of the droids Wrecker must have stepped on. His heart’s pounding.

Breathe.

There’s a sudden rush of warmth and compassion through the bond. Kenobi materializes at his side. “Are you all right?” Obi-Wan asks quietly.

“Stop losing your _shabla_ lightsaber,” Cody says.

Kenobi chuffs a laugh, but there’s no mirth to it. For a beat, his eyes are dark and faraway.

“We still have an invasion to stop,” Rex says. “We should get in contact with General Skywalker and reinforce the effort to repel Grievous’ forces.”

“I’ll contact the Council,” Kenobi says. “They’ll direct us.”

He doesn’t sound enthused. Cody tilts his head at him. Obi-Wan sighs and looks back toward the door.

“This,” he says, “is going to be quite the conversation.”

\--


	15. Echoy'la

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Fox wakes up, he knows one thing: Fives is still alive.
> 
> There's just one problem.
> 
> He has no idea who Fives is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: mentions of blood, multiple descriptions of disorientation
> 
> Echoy'la is the Mando'a word for searching/mourning/lost
> 
> Once again, thank you all for reading - and for your wonderful comments and kudos. I appreciate all of you. :)

Fives is still alive.

Fox hangs onto it through the burning pain and the clouded haze – hangs onto the name until he’s not sure what it means anymore. There’s a mask on his face, feeding him oxygen, but it still feels like he can’t breathe.

Fives is still alive.

By the time the pod stops whirring and the leads stop buzzing, his head is throbbing. Every nerve is on fire.

Somehow, he still feels numb.

The pod hisses open and they undo the leads and restraints; he tries to lift his arm and finds himself pitching forward instead. The security guards barely bother to catch him, looping their arms under his and dragging him out the door. He wants to struggle, wants to swing.

He can’t make himself move. Every breath stutters. He can’t see straight.

They stop at an examination chamber and drop him unceremoniously on the table. The door seals behind then.

He can’t make himself move.

He has to move.

Fox swallows against the nausea and takes a breath. Two. Again. Again. Remember your training.

Just get up.

He gets one arm braced, then the other, and pushes himself onto his elbows. It gives him enough leverage to shove his legs over the side and pull himself upright. The world lurches dangerously; his stomach turns. Fox freezes and breathes – breathes.

Fives is still alive. It rings in the back of his mind, a solace like an anchor. Fives is still alive. Fives is still alive.

Who the hell is Fives?

Fox eases the rest of the way up and immediately bows forward and clutches his head between his hands. _Shabla_ headaches. He thought he was done with these when he got rid of the chip.

The chip.

He reaches for the memory and comes up blank. It’s like grasping at mist, just a vague guess at a ghost. There was a chip. He had some kind of chip. He got rid of the chip – somehow. For some reason. Maybe it was hurting him. Maybe it was what was causing the headaches.

Maybe he needed it and that’s why he’s here, doubled over in a cold examination room clawing at his skull and trying not to throw up.

There’s a faint clattering, someone sliding a keycard, and then the door swishes open. Footsteps.

“Lie back on the table so we can conduct the necessary scans,” a man’s voice says. He doesn’t recognize it. Fox raises his gaze as much as he can. His vision is swimming but he can just make out four figures, one a human man in a lab coat, the other Nala Se, and two security guards.

“Lie back,” the man repeats.

He can’t make himself move. “My head,” Fox croaks, squeezing his eyes shut.

There’s an exasperated sigh, then two strong grips maneuvering him onto his back. Fox chokes back a cry and drives his teeth into the inside of his mouth until he tastes blood. Just breathe. Just breathe.

Fives is still alive. Fives is still alive. Fives is still alive.

He loses track of the tests and the scans. “What are you doing?” Fox asks a long while later, when the pain in his head has subsided enough he doesn’t think his brain will explode if he speaks. “What are you looking for?”

“Reconditioning can be an iterative process,” the man says dispassionately, without looking up from his data terminal. He knows the voice. He’s heard it before. That _aruetii_ medic. Ryl. “We’re attempting to determine how effective the first iteration was and whether we’ll need to conduct a second.”

“I was reconditioned?” He doesn’t feel like a different person. He still knows his name. So much for a blank slate.

“Yes,” Nala Se says tonelessly.

Old fear wells up in his throat, a specter he can’t place. Don’t run. Don’t fight. Go quietly. Let the other survive.

Fives is still alive.

“His scans seem normal,” Ryl says. “Given the process he just underwent.” He glances at him. “CC-1010, can you explain why you’re here?”

“Something was wrong with me,” Fox says, and hopes it’s the right answer. It’s an iterative process, they said: if it didn’t work the first time, they’re going to do it again.

He doesn’t want to do that again.

“You removed your aggression inhibitor chip,” Nala Se says tonelessly.

The chip. No headaches since he removed the chip. His head hurts now. “Oh,” Fox says, and swallows thickly. “That’s bad.”

“The removal made you unstable. The modifications we have made should be sufficient to counteract the effect.” Nala Se says. “You will be returned to duty shortly.”

Ryl’s head snaps up. “So soon?” he asks. “Shouldn’t we conduct a second iteration, just to be safe?”

Fox’s stomach turns. He makes himself breathe. Just breathe. Remember your training. Just breathe.

Fives is still alive.

“No,” Nala Se says calmly. “Unnecessary iterations can cause undesirable side-effects. This reconditioning sequence was curtailed to ensure it would have the minimum necessary impact. I have achieved my goal. He will be returned to duty.”

“But what if it wasn’t enough?”

“CC-1010 is tasked with overseeing the Coruscant Guard. The Chancellor requires his return to duty as soon as is possible. I am overseeing this process. I am declaring the result sufficient.” Nala Se turns her unblinking stare to Ryl’s face. “Do we have an understanding, Doctor Ryl?”

Ryl takes a long moment to nod. “Very good,” Nala Se says. “CC-1010, you will be released to your unit shortly.”

They leave him alone for a long time. Fox wonders if that means they’ve changed their minds and they’re just preparing the pod for another sequence. He manages to ease himself upright again and curls his hands into fists. He’s not sure how steadily he’ll be able to fight, but he has to try.

Anything’s better than going back.

The door opens. It’s Ryl. He has a stack of armor. Fox’s armor. There’s a bodysuit folded neatly on top of it. “Nala Se directed me to return your gear to you,” Ryl says coolly. He doesn’t wait for an answer; he just sets it down and leaves.

The armor is a comfort. Putting the helmet on feels like a shield. Fox takes a breath. Another. Another.

Fives is still alive.

Fives.

He’s too wobbly to stay upright and walk in a straight line for long. The Republic security guards have to haul him to and from the transport. They help him as far as the base gates.

And then they’re gone.

Fox swipes his access card. The gate rattles open.

He takes one step, two, and has to pause for the way the world is shaking. His head throbs; his vision blurs.

“Commander?”

Fox can barely make out the figure rushing toward him, but he’d know the voice anywhere. He almost collapses for the flood of relief. He’s dimly aware he might be listing. No, he’s definitely listing.

Oh.

He’s not standing on his own anymore.

“Thire,” he says hoarsely, and hangs on.

“What happened? Are you all right?” Thire’s voice is controlled, but there’s a note of urgency to it. “My orders said you were taking a leave of medical absence. I didn’t know we even got those.”

Fox chuffs a laugh. He’s shaking, he realizes. Thire wraps his arms around him. Fox leans into the hold. Solid. Brother.

Safe.

“Fox,” Thire repeats, “are you okay?”

He wants to say no, wants to explain it feels like someone took a crude laser cutter to his brain and gutted whatever they thought was making him a problem, wants to say he doesn’t know why he was a problem in the first place, wants to ask who Fives is and why he matters so much and why Fox is so sure he had to be saved.

But all that comes out is a strangled sob.

Thire jolts. “Okay,” he says softly. “Okay, _ner’vod_. It’s okay. I’ve got you. Let’s get you inside.”

Fox tries to support his own weight on the slow, stumbling walk to the barracks. In the end, Thire takes most of it. Fox doesn’t stop shaking when he’s eased down onto a bunk or when Thire kneels in front of him to tug his helmet off.

“Hey,” Thire says gently. He clasps Fox’s face in his hands and tilts his head gently, back and forth. “Did you take a hit to the head? You’ve got a lot of bruising.”

“No,” Fox says. His breath catches.

“I can get Rys to go get a medic from the next base. They’re fully staffed and they’ve got nothing to do.”

Distantly, Fox appreciates that Thire knows he’d never speak to Ryl. None of them would. As far as he knows, none of them ever did. He wonders what the _shabuir_ did while he was here. Maybe he was reviewing records and declaring candidates for reconditioning.

Maybe he’s the reason Fox ended up in that pod.

“Fox?”

“No,” Fox says again. He clears his throat and wraps his arms around himself. He’s wearing a bodysuit and armor rated for short-term vacuum exposure. He shouldn’t be cold. He can’t be cold.

Thire’s silent for a long moment. “What did they do to you?” he asks quietly.

Fox shudders. Thire takes one of his hands between both of his own and squeezes tightly. “I’m here,” he whispers fiercely. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

Brother. Safe.

“I think I was reconditioned,” Fox blurts. His voice cracks. “They said I was.”

Thire’s face falls. He tightens his grip on Fox’s hand. “Okay,” he says. “Did they say why?”

Fives. Fives is still alive. “A chip,” Fox says. “They said I removed my aggression inhibitor chip and it made me unstable.”

Thire frowns. “Aggression inhibitor chip?”

_Shabla_ headaches. Done with them after he removed the chip. Fox winces. “We all have one,” he says slowly. “They said I removed mine so they had to – modify me.”

Thire’s jaw twitches. His hand ghosts over the back of Fox’s skull. “That explains the scar,” he murmurs. “And the haircut.”

Fox nods mutely.

“But why would you remove something you needed?” Thire asks.

Maybe he didn’t need it. Maybe it was hurting him. “I had headaches,” Fox says. “I didn’t after I got rid of it.”

“Did you ask Exon about it?”

Fox stares blankly at him. Exon. Their medic. His brother. When did he see him last? “I don’t know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

Thire blows out a breath. “All right,” he says. “Let’s get you out of the armor. You look like you could use some sleep.”

Thire stacks the armor plates neatly beside the bunk and then gently eases Fox back onto the pillow. Fox squeezes his eyes shut against the burning tears. Thire presses a cool palm to his forehead. “It’s okay,” he says, and Fox chokes a heaving breath. “Just breathe, _vod_. It’s okay.”

Passing out is a relief. Fox sleeps fitfully, tossing from one side to the other. There are always hands to still the thrashing and inside the fevered haze he’s not sure if they’re trying to help him or hold him down. Fire, fire. Not on Fives.

Fives is still alive.

Fives is still alive.

“Fives!”

Fox bolts upright, mindless of the stabbing pain that shoots through his head and neck and down his spine. His entire body aches. “Fives,” he repeats desperately. “Where’s—”

“It’s okay,” Thire says. Rys and Jek are behind him. In the dim light of the field lantern someone turned on, Fox can just barely make them out. “It’s okay.”

“Fives,” Fox repeats. “Where is he?”

Thire’s face twists. “He’s gone, Fox,” Rys says softly. “He’s been gone for months.”

“No,” Fox says. “No, he’s still alive.”

Thire’s hands land on his shoulders. “Take it easy,” he says. “I called in some help.”

Fear wells in his chest, putrid and suffocating. “I don’t want to go back,” Fox says. It hurts to breathe. Just breathe. You have to breathe. Fives, please. “I’m not going back.”

“I didn’t call a medic,” Thire says. Solid. Steady. Safe. Fox manages a nod. “I promise. Just trust me. It’s gonna be okay.”

They sit in silence until there’s a soft shuffle of boots outside the door, then a single, deliberate rap. Jek opens the door.

“Commander,” Thire says to someone just out of sight, and shifts out of the way. The figure kneels down beside the bunk. At first Fox isn’t sure, can’t be sure, because he can’t be here. He’s not supposed to be here; he’s supposed to be on the other side of the galaxy.

“Wolffe,” Fox croaks, struggling to sit up. Wolffe stills him with a gentle hand on his chest. “You’re back on Coruscant?”

“We’ve only been here a few days,” Wolffe says. He makes a valiant attempt at a grin. The shadows under his eyes offset it. “We’re resupplying.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Thire told me what they did to you,” Wolffe says. He wraps a gentle grip around Fox’s wrist and holds tight. Here. Brother. Safe. “You okay?”

“No,” Fox says. “I can’t find Fives.”

Wolffe hesitates and glances over his shoulder at the others. “Fives – Fives is gone, Fox,” he says. “He’s been gone for months.”

“No,” Fox says. He pushes to sit up and this time, Wolffe helps him. “He’s not. He’s still alive. I know he’s still alive.”

“How?”

Fives is still alive. Fives is still alive. Who’s Fives? Fire, fire. Not on Fives. Stay with me. Don’t go. Fives, no.

Fox drags his hands down his face and blows out a breath. “I don’t know,” he says. “I just – that’s all I know.”

Wolffe’s quiet for a beat. “The first few days after reconditioning are the most confusing,” he says. “It’s hard to know what you really remember and what your brain’s trying to fill in.”

“I’m not crazy.”

“I didn’t say you were crazy, Fox,” Wolffe says carefully. “Just that it’s hard to know what the _kaminii_ cut out.”

Wolffe would know. In the earlier days of the war, Plo Koon was called away by the Jedi and the 104th was assigned a new general for a few campaigns; the newcomer was not as convinced of their humanity or as keenly focused on preserving their lives as his predecessor had been.

Wolffe disobeyed almost every single one of his orders. Spectacularly.

When the general departed, he sent off a reprimand for insubordination that was so damning it got Wolffe shipped to Kamino’s reconditioning chamber. If Koon hadn’t been so vigilant and then so insistent on Wolffe’s safe return, it would’ve been as good as death sentence. As it was, he’d already been cycled twice by the time the Jedi showed up to raise hell.

When 501st executed Pong Krell on Umbara, no one in the 104th or the Guard mourned.

Fox swallows past the tightness in his throat. “How did you get better?” he croaks.

“ _Plo’buir_ ,” Wolffe says, then stops and curses. “General Koon.”

“What?”

“The Force,” Wolffe says.

Fox stares at him.

Wolffe sighs. “The General said the Kaminoans cut at connections in my brain so I wouldn’t be able to recall certain memories and feelings or repeat patterns of behavior. He thought if he focused on repairing those connections, he could help me remember.”

“Did it?” Fox asks. “Help?”

Wolffe lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Mostly,” he says, and snorts softly. “I remembered my name, at least. That was something.”

It’s not as encouraging as he’d hoped it would be. It must show on his face.

Wolffe rests a hand on his shoulder. “Look, the Kaminoans want us to think that everything they do is exact,” he says. “But when they decide we have a behavioral problem, there’s no way for them to know exactly what part of us they need to cut out to make it go away. So they hit whatever connections they think are most likely. And they keep hitting them until we’re quiet. Or it kills us. Whichever comes first.”

Like a crude laser cutter. Fox shudders. “General Koon can help you,” Wolffe says. “I’ll talk to him if you want me to.”

Fire, fire. Not on Fives. Fives is still alive.

Fives.

“If it will help me remember,” Fox says, “I’ll do anything.”

* * *

Plo Koon is remarkably well put-together for someone that just got dragged out of bed in the middle of the night.

“Commander Fox,” he says, easing down onto the edge of the bunk and folding his hands in his lap. There’s a note of warmth to his voice, an easy paternal tone Fox imagines he adopts without thinking. _Plo’buir_ , Wolffe called him.

“General Koon,” Fox says. He moves to sit up, vaguely conscious of Thire, Rys, and Jek standing at the ready to stop him. Wolffe beats them to it: a firm grip lands on Fox’s shoulder.

“Just stay there, Fox,” Wolffe says, exasperated. “You don’t have to be at-attention right now.”

Fox eases back. “How does this work?” he asks, swallowing back the lump in his throat.

Fox can’t see the General’s eyes or mouth behind his mask but he gets the distinct impression he’s smiling kindly: he exudes calm. “The Force is a part of all living things,” Koon says. “We are bound by it. And we can be healed with it.”

Fox nods uneasily. Wolffe squeezes his shoulder. “It’s just like having Exon patch you up,” he says. “General Koon just does it with the Force instead of bacta.”

“You mean ‘ _Plo’buir_?’” Fox asks wryly.

Wolffe snorts.

“May I?” Koon asks, and waits for Fox’s nod. Then he gently presses his hands to either side of Fox’s skull, bows his head, and goes still.

Fox closes his eyes.

The sensation feels like soothing, a cool wave that sweeps away the fire and the fear. For a brief and terrifying second he’s afraid he’ll sink into it and forget how to breathe, but somehow the thought shifts away and suddenly he’s not in the barracks, gasping past the rising panic. He’s somewhere bright and warm staring up into a wide open sky.

Distantly, he knows it’s not real, knows it can’t be real. It’s a familiar dream: the sun on his face and a gentle breeze in the trees. After the war, he told himself, like he would live long enough to see something so peaceful. He’d find a field on a planet somewhere far away from Coruscant and sit in the grass and stare up at the sky until the sun sank below the horizon and he could finally see the stars. His brothers would be there, the Guard and the command class that hasn’t been all together since Kamino.

The command class he’ll never see all together again.

He glances to his left and Thorn is there – Thorn and Ponds and Colt and Havoc and every other name that’s ever been stamped onto a casualty list. Smiling. Laughing.

Alive.

Fox reaches out a hand and it passes through Thorn’s arm. Thorn looks at him. He’s saying something, but he never makes a sound. There’s a smile on his lips; there’s fear in his eyes. Fox opens his mouth to ask but as soon as he remembers how to form the words Thorn jolts, jolts, jolts, and drops.

“Thorn,” Fox croaks, and reaches for him again, but he’s gone. They’re all gone. The wind gusts now; the sky is raging overhead. It’s always raining. There’s so much white. Keep it steady. Stay in line. Double time.

Good soldiers follow orders.

Set to kill. Switch it back. Fire, fire.

Not on Fives.

His head is going to explode. There are tears in his eyes. Stay safe. Stay alive. His hands are shaking. He can’t make himself breathe. Remember your training. Open your hand. Close it. Open your hand. Close it. Repeat.

Just breathe.

He wakes screaming.

“Fox!” Wolffe’s hands are on his shoulders, grounding him. Safe. Steady. Brother. “It’s okay. It’s all right. You’re all right.”

Fox takes a shuddery breath. He swallows thickly. He’s plastered in sweat; his blacks are clinging to his spine. “Right,” he manages, folding his hands together to stop the shaking. Fives. Fives is still alive. Fives. “Right.”

Wolffe clasps a hand over the back of his neck and pulls him to rest against his shoulder. “It’s okay, _vod_ ,” he says again. Fox takes a stuttering breath. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

He doesn’t let go until Fox is still. “How long was I out?” Fox asks, scrubbing at his eyes. His face is streaked with tears. He doesn’t remember crying.

Wolffe shrugs. “Most of the day. General Koon put you into a…‘healing sleep.’”

Fox quirks an eyebrow and doesn’t ask. The headache is duller, a low throb instead of a stabbing pain. It doesn’t hurt to think.

“Thire,” he says at last. “Rys. Jek. Where are they?”

“Senate duty.”

“I need to get back out there.”

Wolffe’s eyes are dark with concern. His hair is frazzled. He hasn’t slept. “Not yet,” he says. “Give yourself a few days.”

“Wolffe—”

“Trust me.”

He’s never been good at sitting still when there’s a job to do so Fox paces his quarters, back and forth and back and forth until he thinks he’s going to lose his mind. Fives is still alive. Fives is still alive. He knows that as well as he knows his own name.

But try as he might, he can’t remember who Fives is. Don’t go. Stay alive. Set to kill. Switch it back. Fire, fire. It’s all a hazy blur: he can feel his finger on the trigger, can hear himself cry _Don’t do it_.

He never sees the face of the man he shoots. He can’t remember why he had to shoot him.

He can’t remember why Fives is important.

He can’t remember why Fives isn’t dead.

Fox’s clearance gives him access to all Coruscant Guard incident reports so on the second night when he finds himself lying awake staring blankly at the ceiling, he pulls out his datapad and scrolls through the last two months. Most of it’s mundane stuff, Senate escorts and war protests and general patrols. A few fugitives. One attempted prison break.

Nothing notable.

Fox blows out a breath and knocks his head back against the wall with a dull thud. His room’s exactly as he left it: everything is in its place. Closet shut. Chair squared at the desk. Dresser drawers neatly closed.

It doesn’t seem right.

Fox tears it apart and puts it back together again. Aside from the empty compartment at the back of the top drawer, there’s nothing amiss.

Should it be empty?

He can’t sleep so he stares at the datapad until his eyes ache and goes back past two months. It’s almost 0200 when he finds it – an incident report for a fugitive pursuit that ended at a warehouse. ARC trooper CT-5555 attempted to assassinate the Chancellor and went for a pistol when met with pursuing Guardsmen. He was shot by CC-1010 and subsequently died on the scene.

CT-5555. Fives. He shot Fives. Fatally.

How is Fives still alive?

He remembers Wolffe’s words – that his brain might be trying to fill in the empty spaces and make the void make sense. Fox paces and turns it over and drags his hands across the bare fuzz on his scalp. If he shot another clone, shot a brother, he’s not sure how he’d live with himself. Maybe he went crazy. Maybe he went crazy and he had his aggression inhibitor chip removed in a fit of paranoia and that sent him over the edge and gave him headaches and they found him out and sent him to the Facility.

Maybe there really was a problem. Maybe Fives is dead. Maybe it’s all been a delusion. Maybe he was in the reconditioning chamber for weeks like clones on Kamino whispered about and they’ve just finally let him out. Maybe everything he thinks is real is a dream and he’s lost it or he never had it and he’s finally reached the end and this is his own personal version of hell.

Stop.

Open your hands. Close them. Breathe. Repeat.

Fives is still alive. He remembers it for a reason. He knows that for a reason. He told himself that in the pod, over and over and over again while the leads buzzed and cut and he wanted to scream.

Fives has to be alive.

Fox sees Wolffe and Plo Koon twice a day for three days, each time shorter than the last until Koon says that he’s done all he can and that Fox just has to wait and let himself heal for a while. Fox tries to smile. He doesn’t think either of them believes he’s sincere.

Wait. As if he has that luxury. There’s a ticking urgency in his chest, an anxiety he can’t place. He’s running out of time – but out of time to do what?

The summons comes through six days after he set foot back on base. Fox puts on his armor and marches to the Chancellor’s office. The grand entrance gives him pause. Fear curls in his chest.

He has no reason to be afraid.

Fox knocks.

“Come in, please.”

Fox steps through the door and snaps to attention. “Sir,” he bites out. “You asked to see me?”

Palpatine glances over his shoulder. He’s facing the window with his hands clasped behind his back: staring out over the skyline. “Join me,” he says. Fox moves slowly across the room to obey. His feet feel heavier than they should; his chest aches.

Part of him wants to run.

“Coruscant is beautiful,” Palpatine says, when Fox finally stops at his side. “Wouldn’t you agree, Commander?”

“Yes, sir.”

A pleased smile lights Palpatine’s face. Fox stills a shudder. “It is because of your work that it remains so,” he says. “You have done a magnificent job in your role as the Guard’s commander.”

“Thank you, Chancellor.”

Palpatine turns to face him. “I trust that your headaches were corrected during your medical leave,” he says. There’s a kindly note to his words that’s so at odds with the steely glint of his eyes. Must be the light. Fox straightens his shoulders.

“They were,” he says. “I am fully capable of completing my duties.”

“Good. I should hate to think the Guard would have to do without you for any longer than is absolutely necessary. You are irreplaceable, Commander Fox.”

“I appreciate that, sir.”

“You speak as though you don’t believe I mean it.”

Fear lances through his heart. If it didn’t work the first time, they’re going to do it again. “No,” Fox says quickly, in his best shiny voice. “No, sir. I’m just – flattered.”

Palpatine puts a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be,” he says. “It’s only the truth.”

Fox makes himself stay still. The touch is meant to be a reassurance, but it burns and weighs.

He has no reason to be afraid.

Reporting to the Chancellor becomes a familiar part of his routine, so making himself sound eager-to-please becomes second nature. Good soldiers follow orders; Palpatine doesn’t seem to care if it’s out of fear or true belief.

“Your vitals look good,” Ryl always tells him at the weekly appointments Palpatine scheduled for him, and Fox always makes himself give the _shabla_ _chakaar_ of an _aruetii_ doctor a tight smile and a firm handshake when all he wants to do is snap his neck for helping Nala Se.

He can’t go back. He has to keep remembering. He has to find Fives.

Fives is still alive.

It comes back in flashes. His own harsh breathing, rattling in his ears. The rumble of a gunship beneath his feet. The tremble of his finger on the trigger. That old, familiar cold. Not enough to kill him. Rex, screaming. Fives, falling. _Please, Fives_. Don’t die.

Why did he have to fire? Who told him to fire? Why was Fives in that warehouse? Fox drives his palms into his eyes and blows out a breath in the dead of night and tries to make himself remember – remember something, remember anything – to explain the unexplainable. To tell him why he gets such a chill when he stands in Palpatine’s presence or why the scar on his skull aches or why he’s so sure that he should tell Thire to get to the next base and have the medic pull his chip too. He can’t sleep, he can’t sit still, he has to move – he has to be somewhere, do something, save them all from a threat he can’t even put a name to.

He’s running out of time. He needs to find Fives.

The Chancellor doesn’t give him the chance.

For weeks after his release, Fox is a steady force at Palpatine’s side. He has more important work to do, but he can’t refuse. They’ll recondition him again. They’ll send him back to Nala Se and Ryl and that damned pod and then they’ll pull him apart.

So he goes. And he stands. And he lets Palpatine talk and smile and he nods and agrees to everything like he’s a shiny trying to impress his first CO.

And he keeps Rys and Jek and Thire close.

When the Separatists rain fire down on Coruscant, Palpatine doesn’t shift from his seat. The lights in his office are off. He has his hands folded neatly on the desk in front of him.

“Do you feel it?” he asks, a quiet rasp that sends a chill down Fox’s spine. His mouth curves into a knowing smile.

The door swings wide.

The air is so still it’s suffocating.

One of the ARCs steps forward. He reaches for his belt and then holds his right arm forward. There’s a telltale click, then an all-too-familiar hiss. A dual blade springs to life, pale, crackling gold.

“Sheev Palpatine, you are under arrest for acts of treason against the Republic.”

It crashes over Fox like a wave. In an instant he knows what he couldn’t remember for weeks. Stay safe. Stay alive.

Fives.

Fox doesn’t know why he believes them, doesn’t know why he wants to step up beside them, doesn’t know why he’d stand against the Chancellor when it’s his duty to protect him.

But he keeps his hands at his sides.

Fives is still alive.

There’s a shockwave of shattering glass and suddenly Fox is on the floor. By the time he makes it back to his feet, Palpatine is cackling, Palpatine is gone, and there’s an armada of droids pouring in. Dimly, Fox is sure they’ve come for the Chancellor.

But the Chancellor is a traitor. And his brothers are here.

Fox stumbles toward them and whips out one of his pistols and fires – fires – fires. Rex gives him a glance and a short snap of a nod he doesn’t have the chance to return.

“We’ve got SBDs incoming,” someone barks. Fox whirls in time to blast the one closest to him.

He doesn’t get the one behind it. The rocket screams from its wrist, a nuclear screech, and hits right in front of him. The blast-wave launches him; his helmet and his pistol go flying off into oblivion.

“Fox!”

He can’t breathe. Just breathe. He can’t make himself move.

He has to move.

Fox rasps a ragged breath and chokes a cough. Breathe. Again. Remember your training.

Just get up.

Just get up.

You have to get up.

There’s a shrieking clash from the corridor. Fox lifts one hand, the other, again, again, and drags himself across what’s left of the floor. Just get up. Just get up. Keep moving. Just get up.

He gets one hand on the doorframe, then the other.

Fives is still alive.

You have to get up.

Fox lifts his pistol and takes trembling aim. Fire, fire. Not on Fives.

On the traitor.

On the Chancellor.

“Fools,” Palpatine hisses. “You think you—”

Fox fires.

Palpatine falls.

“ _Aruetii_ ,” Fox manages, and collapses.

* * *

His ears are still ringing.

Kix is tilting his head and moving a hand back and forth in front of Fox’s face and asking him to track it, but his voice is muffled and faraway. Fire, fire. Not on Fives.

On the traitor.

On the Chancellor.

“Fox.” There’s a hand on his shoulder. Fox jolts. Fives tilts his head at him. “Hey, it’s me. You remember me.”

“Fives,” Fox says slowly.

Fives quirks a smile. “Yeah,” he says, like an exhale, like relief. “Fives.”

Fox raises an eyebrow at him.

“What happened after I left?” Fives asks, with a short glance over his shoulder. Kenobi’s still on the comm with the Council, but with the way the Separatists are bearing down on the burning skyline, Fox can’t imagine that they’ll be talking for much longer.

Fire. Rage. Searing pain.

Remember your training.

“I got caught,” Fox says, with half a shrug. It’s the best he can do. There’s too much to sort through.

It’s better than _I don’t know_.

Fives winces. Fox gets the distinct impression he knows more than he’s saying but whatever knowledge he has, he keeps to himself.

“They didn’t mess me up too bad,” Fox says a long beat later. “I’m all right.”

“‘All right.’ That wrist rocket almost took off your head, Fox,” Kix mutters. “You’re concussed.”

“So are you,” Fives says.

Kix huffs. “Maybe, but Fox got blasted by a super battle droid – and that was after he got knocked on his _shebs_ when the glass blew in,” he grumbles. “He needs to be in a medical bay, not on the battlefield.”

For all the buzzing in his brain, he’d still heard the sabers clash – still heard the laugh – still felt the fury burn in his chest. For all the stabbing pain, he’d still crawled to the door – still taken his trembling aim.

Still fired.

Fox jolts suddenly. The fight was in the hall. His heart leaps into his throat. “Rys,” he says, scrambling to get up. “Jek. Thire. They were on patrol on this floor. I assigned them—”

“Cody got them out,” Fives says, taking hold of his shoulders. “They’re safe. They’re reinforcing the defenses on the ground level.”

Safe. Right. There are blaster bolts flying at their heads. “I need to get down there,” Fox says. “I should be with them.”

Kix makes a face. “I really don’t recommend that.”

“Coruscant is under attack,” Fox snaps.

Kix stares at him for a long moment, then scowls. “I gave you something for the pain,” he mutters, getting to his feet. “Try not to get hit in the head again, all right?”

Kenobi’s just finished his conversation. “Commander Fox,” he says. His eyes are kind. “Are you all right?”

“I can fight, General,” Fox says. Maybe leaning on Fives as he gets up isn’t the best way to sell that argument, it does earn him an eyebrow raise, but for whatever he might think about its truth, Obi-Wan doesn’t dispute the claim.

They need everyone they can get right now.

“General Grievous doesn’t know that the Chancellor is – well, no longer with us,” Kenobi says. “He’s continuing his assault on the Senate building. He must be repelled and, if possible, captured. Commander Fox and Clone Force Ninety-Nine: that will be your assignment. Master Yoda is dispatching Masters Unduli and Windu to assist you.”

“What about the rest of us, General?” Rex asks.

“We will push our way to the landing bay to rendezvous with Anakin and take a gunship to the _Resolute_ ,” Obi-Wan says. “From there, we will launch a boarding craft to the command cruiser. Dooku has surely sensed the death of his master. He’ll be dangerously off-balance. If we can capture him now, then we have a very real chance of dealing a crippling blow to the Separatists.”

“General Kenobi.”

“Echo?”

Echo glances to the rest of the Bad Batch; one of them puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’d like to request permission to join the boarding party. The rest of Ninety-Nine can make do without me for this one.”

Kenobi considers him for a long moment. Then he nods and leads the way out.

Fox turns to find his bucket but Fives is already holding it. He hands it over wordlessly. Fox pulls it on. It feels safe. Secure. Right. He takes a steadying breath.

“Stay alive, _ner’vod_ ,” Fives says.

Fox clasps his shoulder. “You too,” he says.

Then he marches on.

\--


	16. Point of departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Palpatine is down.
> 
> Rex and the others press on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings.
> 
> Battle scenes take forever to write but I'm getting the hang of it!
> 
> As always, thank you all so much for reading! I appreciate you. <3

Coruscant is burning.

Rex can smell it even through his helmet filters. His eyes water; his throat is on fire.

It’s uncomfortably familiar.

There’s a soft swoosh, then a light thud. Skywalker. “What’d I miss?” he asks, falling in beside Kenobi. His voice carries a sharp undertone, something dangerously close to betrayal.

Obi-Wan gives him a glance but keeps in step with Cody at the head. “Not much,” he says. “A small skirmish.”

“High treason,” Rex volunteers dryly.

Anakin snorts. “Yeah,” Skywalker says. “The Council mighta mentioned that.”

“There will be plenty of time for explanations after we’ve captured Dooku.” Kenobi holds up a hand to halt their advance. The Senate building isn’t far from the GAR landing bay and with the frontal assault Grievous is launching on the Senate, peripheral resistance has been light.

The last main corridor between the two points, however, is brimming with droids.

“Three full squads,” Fives mutters. “That’s gonna be tough.”

Anakin stops dead in his tracks and slowly, the rest of them follow suit. Rex looks to him; his face is a study in sudden turmoil. “Fives,” Skywalker says hoarsely, and takes a deep breath. “Was no one gonna tell me Fives was alive either?”

“It’s all one very long and complicated story, General,” Fives says. His hand lands on Skywalker’s shoulder and squeezes, once. “Promise I’ll explain after this is done.”

Anakin clasps a hand over Fives’ wrist. “It’s good to see you on your feet,” he says.

“They’re headed this way,” Ventress warns tensely, “so if you two are finished with your little reunion, perhaps you can bring yourselves to help us deal with the droids.”

“I’m not even going to ask about you,” Skywalker says, and Rex chokes back a laugh. “Whenever we’re in trouble, it seems like you just so _happen_ to be around.”

“She can be helpful,” Fives says.

“I thought your judgment was better than that, Fives.”

“No one’s going to be judging anything if we don’t take out those droids,” Kenobi snaps. His blade sings to life. “Anakin!”

Skywalker leaps to his side and together with Ventress, they rush the line. Rex whips his pistols out and steps up beside Cody. Six ARC troopers, two Jedi, an ex-Sith-apprentice, and a medic: their odds aren’t terrible.

They’ve taken harder targets with less.

The first squad of droids goes down, then the second. They’ve blasted halfway through the third when Rex hears it: the low, familiar rumble.

Tanks.

Skywalker just barely flips out of the way of the first blast and narrowly dodges the second, bounding from one side to the other to draw their fire. “Get to cover,” Rex barks, and dives behind what’s left of a downed gunship.

Fives throws up a hand to shield his visor from the showering debris. “Anyone have detonators?”

“No,” Rex says. “We didn’t have time.”

Echo’s hunkered down on Fives’ other side. He risks a glance around the corner and almost immediately has to recoil from a hailfire. “Three tanks,” he says. “That’s a problem.”

“I’m open to suggestions!” Skywalker calls from the other side of the corridor.

They have no detonators, no rocket launchers, and there’s another squad of droids moving in from behind the tanks to reinforce them. They can’t get at the droids without getting taken out by the tanks.

Great.

“We have to do something,” Echo says. “We can’t stay here forever.”

“If you’ve got an idea, I’m listening,” Rex shoots back. A burst takes out the rubble just above his head and he hunches as far forward as he can in case they decide to aim a few inches lower next time and take off his head instead.

Echo’s not wrong: they can’t stay here much longer.

“Obi-Wan, take the one on the left,” Skywalker orders. “I’ll go for the one in the center. Ventress—”

“I can fill that in myself, Skywalker,” Ventress says. She hurdles from behind her cover, sabers a whirlwind, and darts across the battlefield. There’s a merciless grace to her movements, as if she’s honed her sixth sense to tell her where the next blast will be buried or which of her opponents will next turn their weapon to her head. Rex has seen that fluid form before, when she cut through his lines.

When she cut through his men.

At least this time, it’s droids.

“Take them out!” Rex says, and charges after Skywalker and Kenobi. The tanks turn their attention to the more imminent and rapidly approaching threat, swiveling their barrels to try to get a clear sight. It’s sloppy, jerky, the Jedi are too quick, and by the time Skywalker’s tank has anything close to a lock his saber is cleaving through the gun’s stem.

The other two tanks are already burning. Rex snaps two shots into a super battle droid and spins to slam his shoulder pauldron into a B1 creeping up on Echo and Fives.

“Just like old times,” Fives says, and puts his back to Rex’s so they form a three-point shield for security.

Through the dust and the grit, Rex smiles.

His relief is short-lived. “More tanks,” Skywalker yells, and vaults back to join their formation with Kenobi and Ventress.

“We can’t catch a break,” Jesse says. “What did they do, send the whole army our way?”

“Could be worse,” Dogma says. “We could be dead.”

Kix snorts.

The rumbling’s closer, closer – thrumming and thundering toward them. Then it stops abruptly.

Rex follows the others to cover behind the line they’ve already destroyed, peering around to get a glimpse of their next targets. Two more squads and three more tanks. Not the whole army, then: that force is pushing its way through the Senate’s front lines, heading straight for Fox and Clone Force Ninety-Nine.

“We can handle this,” Anakin says. “These have to be reserves they were sending to the main front. We just happened to run into them.”

“What good fortune,” Kenobi says dryly.

“Truly, Master, your luck never seems to run out.”

“Same plan, then?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“General,” Cody says tensely. It takes Rex a beat to hear it.

Ship engines. Air support.

“Get down!”

The first strafing run falls short of their position, but it’s still close enough to rattle Rex’s teeth. The next one won’t be so generously spaced.

They need to move. Now.

“It’s only two fighters,” Anakin says, craning his neck back and shielding his eyes with the hand not holding his saber.

“Hopefully, they won’t bomb their own forces,” Kenobi says. “If we can get in closer, we might have a chance.”

At this point, it’s getting around the droid squadrons that will be the problem: the Jedi are free to rush the tanks, but only if there’s a diversion to draw the squads’ fire. Rex takes a steadying breath.

“Now!” Skywalker yells, and then Ventress and the Jedi are on the move. Rex pushes forward with Fives on one side and Echo on the other; in his peripheral, Cody, Jesse, Dogma, and Kix are doing the same.

Maybe he should be grateful these droids were programmed to just shoot in a straight line. The Separatists rely on overwhelming numbers to win their battles, not accurate firepower – but then, it doesn’t matter how many droids you down if there are always three more to take the place of the one you scrapped.

Get all the headshots you want: you’re still getting overrun.

“More squads on approach!” Anakin calls to them. His lightsaber sears through the tank’s shell; it sparks and stutters and dies.

Rex curses. More squads. The Separatists must have counted on all of the senators being placed into protective quarters because of the invasion and assumed that that meant the corridor to the bay would be relatively open for their use. These aren’t a few stray reserves; this is the main channel through which the enemy is funneling their reinforcements to the main front. Getting through means clearing the current wave and making a break for the bay before the next one is on top of them.

“Fighters are coming back around,” Fives warns, and between breaking a B1’s head off and doing his best to not get shot, Rex braces for the missiles’ impact.

They never hit.

Rex steals a glance at the sky. That’s not a Separatist starfighter: it’s a Mandalorian one. It hovers just above them, whirring; a figure vaults out. At that altitude, they should have hit their jetpack a few seconds after their initial jump, but instead they tuck into a graceful dive.

Just before they hit the surface, their sabers ignite: blazing white.

It takes Rex an impossible moment to recognize her.

“Commander Tano!”

There’s no time to process her presence, no time ask himself how or why. “Okay,” Fives says, “this time those _shabla_ droids really are coming back around.”

Rex could have gotten that from the starfighters’ whine if he hadn’t been briefly preoccupied. They’re close. Too close.

“Get down!”

Ahsoka races toward one of the downed tanks; she takes one bounding step, two, and launches herself high. For a brief and terrifying second she seems to hover midair with the starfighters bearing down on her. Then she hits the apex, twists about, and slices through the first fighter’s port nacelle. It streams smoke, but even in its spiral she grabs hold and hangs on. Her momentum carries her forward, and she darts across its death knell and propels herself onto the second fighter.

One jab, two and the fighter falls with a screech.

Tano glides along on the doomed ship and bails at the last second. She lands in front of Rex, set in her stance with her sabers at the ready.

“Ahsoka,” Anakin says, and while he might be breathless from the battle and because of the wave marching toward them, Rex suspects it has more to do with his surprise. Ahsoka gives him half a smile and a nod before she has to lift her sabers to deflect bolts back at the advancing droid lines.

The next squad’s made it past the wreckage. 

“Keep blasting,” Rex says. “We have to push through.”

“What, did you think we were gonna stop?” Echo asks. Rex can’t see his face but he’s sure that there’s a smirk plastered on it.

Outnumbered and fighting for their lives: this really is just like old times.

Clearing the droids that have made it past the tanks puts them in sight of the bay. Actually having the cover to get inside, however, mean wiping out the rest of the Separatist platoon.

Cody’s moved up to Kenobi’s position. Their coordination is flawless, perfectly attuned. They know without words which way the other will move. It makes them formidable and for droids that can only shift from one set program to the next, nearly unstoppable. Rex wonders if it’s the Force-bond or the battle meditation or both.

Then Cody stops.

Rex has the urge to bark at him, keep your blaster up, keep firing, but he can’t push the words past the lump swelling in his throat. Protocol Sixty-Six is finished. Palpatine is dead. There’s no way for the chip to activate. There can’t be a failsafe. But Cody looks frozen, transfixed, and for a brief and horrifying second Rex remembers Tup.

So does Fives. “Cody,” Fives bites out. “What the hell are you doing?”

Cody doesn’t answer. Kenobi’s gaze snaps to his commander but he must not be getting a surge of warning because he stays strong at Cody’s side.

Tiplar didn’t move either.

“Cody!”

Cody drops his blaster. Slowly, painstakingly, he stretches his hands out. Then, in one short movement, he snaps both into fists and slams his arms down.

The oncoming squad crumples like gravity has collapsed on it, contorting in a shower of sparks. The droids fizzle and hiss and fall, twitching, to the ground. Rex lowers his pistols; somewhere in his peripheral, he’s conscious of the others doing the same.

That’s it for the wave.

Cody drops to his knees.

Not Cody. Not Cody. A surge of fear shoots through Rex and he sprints to him, skidding to a stop beside him and seizing his shoulders. “Cody,” Rex says, more desperately than he means to. There’s no blood or blast marks. He’s not hit. “Cody, are you all right?”

Cody coughs a weak laugh. “Yeah, Rex,” he says. “I’m okay. That just took more out of me than I thought it would.”

Out of Cody. Not Kenobi. Cody. Rex stares at him. “I have a lot to tell you,” Cody says, holding out a hand. Rex pulls him to his feet. “I promise I’ll explain when this is done.”

Rex is distinctly aware of the dead silence hanging over them. Skywalker, Tano, and Kix and most of the other ARCs look just as stunned as he feels. It’s only Kenobi, Ventress, and Fives that seem unaffected. Ventress’ reaction must be apathy. But somehow, Kenobi and Fives knew.

There’s no time to ask Cody why he didn’t say something sooner, or why he looked Rex in the eye and told him he wasn’t a Force-sensitive. The path to the bay is finally clear and they have precious few minutes to close the gap, get aboard a gunship, and launch.

“Hang on to something,” Skywalker calls from the cockpit. “I’ve never flown one of these before.”

Not completely true. He’s never flown one that wasn’t on fire and still in one piece. Rex grips the overhead bar and claps a hand on Fives’ shoulder, as much to steady as to reassure himself. Fives is alive. Fives is here and breathing and alive. _We’ll see him as soon as we can_ , Cody said.

It’s not exactly the reunion Rex had in mind.

The atmosphere is rife with wreckage: pieces torn from screaming half-ships and space debris pelt the sides of the gunship. There’s a loud snap, a crack, and Skywalker swearing in Huttese over the comm. Rex strains for a reassurance he knows won’t come; if Skywalker updates them on anything, it’ll be an order to get ready for a bumpy landing or a complete bail-out.

“Glad to have you back on board, Commander,” Echo says. “It’s been a while.”

Echo’s ARC armor is different, but Ahsoka’s never needed painted plating to tell any of them apart. Rex knows she can feel each of them in the Force just like he knows all of this must be a lot to absorb.

The last time she saw Echo was at the Citadel.

“I’m glad to see you too,” Ahsoka says at last. There’s a warm smile in her voice. “And you, Fives.”

“Who told you about me?” Fives asks.

“It happened on Coruscant,” Ahsoka says. “You hear things.”

“Where have you been?” Jesse calls. “You’ve missed a lot of fun.”

“We’ll have to catch up later,” she says. “Right now, I need someone to bring me up to speed.”

A ripple of laughter rolls through the troop bay.

“That’s gonna be a lot harder than you might think, Commander,” Rex says. “But right now, all you need to know is our current objective.”

“What’s that?”

“Capture Dooku and destroy his command cruiser.”

The gunship shudders with the force of an impact. “Almost there,” Skywalker says. “Hang on back there. We’re gonna make it.”

“We better make it,” Fives mutters. “I’ve already died once.”

They’re nearly to the _Resolute’s_ landing bay when the missile hits.

The gunship rattles, groans, and dies. Rex clings to the overhead bar until it snaps off. Fives careens into his chest and knocks them both back into Jesse and Dogma at the rear. The craft hits the landing bay’s floor with an ear-piercing screech, skidding and screaming for a few hundred feet before it finally comes to rest.

“Sound off,” Rex coughs, pushing Fives up and following him. Kenobi stumbles to his feet and blasts the doors off with a thrust of the hand. Cody leads them out. There’s a staggered chorus of answers.

All accounted for.

Kix is hunched over, leaning on Jesse’s shoulder to stay upright. “Get him to the medical bay,” Rex says.

Kix jolts. “I can fight, Captain,” he says. “Let me fight.”

Rex glances to Fives. “He’s concussed,” Fives says lowly. “He was in pretty rough shape when I found him. He took some painkillers and stims on the way to the Senate, but that’s it.”

“Medbay,” Rex repeats firmly.

“Rex,” Kix hisses. He tugs his helmet off and shoves it at Jesse, then straightens to stand on his own. All the blood drains from his face; he crumples, clutching at his ribs. Jesse catches him.

Rex rests a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You’ve done what you can,” he says. “Stay here. We’ll get Dooku.”

“I can _fight_.”

“I know you can, Kix,” Rex says, and looks to Jesse. “I know.”

The _Resolute’s_ alarms are on in full force. The ship wasn’t completely repaired after their campaigns in the Outer Rim came to a close. As they rush through the corridors to the bridge, Rex wonders if the _Negotiator_ is even airborne.

“Admiral Yularen,” Skywalker says, almost the second he steps through the door. “What’s our status?”

Yularen whirls to face him. He looks haggard and worn; there are dark circles under his eyes. His hair, usually well-coiffed, is a wild disaster. “We’ve all but lost the _Negotiator_ ,” he says, “along with two other capital ships. I have been assured that more reinforcements are on the way, but it is my concern that they will not arrive in time. To be less than quaint, General Skywalker, we are in dire straits.”

Skywalker grimaces. “Do you have any functional boarding craft?”

“Two,” Yularen says. He glances to Ventress, frowns, then turns his gaze back to Skywalker. “What do you have in mind?”

“We’re going to board the command ship and we’re going to capture Dooku.”

“You’ll never make it that far.” Yularen’s frown deepens. “The command ship is in the center of the Separatist cluster. You’ll be shot down before you make it past their first lines of defense.”

“Let me worry about that,” Anakin says. “Just get us that ship.”

“I’ll have it cleared for launch.”

“We’re going to need detonators.”

“I’ll have them loaded for you, General,” Yularen says, and then he’s gone.

“Their supporting forces are going to be a problem, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says. He furrows his brow and strokes his beard. “I have no doubts in your abilities as a pilot, but the fact remains that they do have the numbers.”

“Generals,” Cody says suddenly. Skywalker and Kenobi look to him. Cody hesitates, then squares his shoulders. “There might be another way.”

“What other way, Cody?” Anakin asks. “We have to get on-board that command ship, capture Dooku, and blast it on our way out. I don’t see any ‘other way’ to end this battle.”

“Battle meditation,” Cody says.

Skywalker stares at him. Obi-Wan stiffens. “I’ve never attempted it on this scale,” Kenobi says. There’s a note of doubt to his voice that Rex doesn’t like. “I can’t be certain I’ll be able to maintain it.”

Cody tugs off his helmet and stares him dead in the eyes. “General, we are vastly outnumbered,” he says. “We need every advantage.”

“But on this _scale_ —”

“They don’t need long,” Cody says firmly. For a long moment, neither of them speaks. It’s a silent battle of wills, a debate to which no one else is privy. Then Obi-Wan takes a deep breath.

And he nods.

“Battle meditation,” Anakin says, shaking his head. There’s a slight smile playing at his lips. “When were you gonna tell me about that?”

“Just go get Dooku, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says wearily, and Skywalker claps him on the shoulder and turns to leave.

Rex hesitates. Obi-Wan smiles at him, but it’s worn.

“Good luck, Captain,” he says quietly. “May the Force be with you.”

Rex has never seen Kenobi so exhausted. The words feel heavy and strange on his tongue, but he forces them out anyway.

“And with you, General.”

\--


	17. The sortie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coruscant is under siege.
> 
> The team launches its daring mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: brief description of a panic attack/panic-attack-like reaction

After this is over, he’s going to sleep for an entire day.

Fox’s blood is singing with adrenaline as he double times it after Clone Force Ninety-Nine. The stims will keep him steady and numb the pain but he knows that once they wear off the crash will be so hard and fast he’ll probably collapse.

Exon would have his head for going into a battle like this.

The Guard has been reinforced by the 104th; they’ve established a choke point at the Senate’s main entrance. Beyond their barricades are lines upon lines of droids, marching in unrelenting columns toward them. Fox hunches over and rushes to cover, dimly aware that Clone Force Ninety-Nine is right beside him.

“Grenade!”

It never makes it into their ranks. Faster than Fox can react, Crosshair whips out his DC-17 and snaps off a shot that blasts the grenade midair. It shatters in a shower of sparks.

“Nice shot,” Fox says.

Crosshair snorts and doesn’t answer.

“Fox,” Wolffe says, suddenly beside him. His helmet’s faceplate is singed and blackened, like he was too close to an explosion when it went off. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

“Coruscant is being invaded,” Fox says. “What do you want me to do? Hide?”

Wolffe makes a disgruntled sound and blasts the head off a B1. In between blowing bolts through the oncoming horde, Fox braces himself for a second battle. He hasn’t really butted heads with Wolffe since Kamino and he has neither the patience nor the energy to revive the habit now.

“What about the Chancellor?” Wolffe demands. “You’re supposed to be his security detail.”

Fox chokes a strangled laugh. “The Chancellor,” he says, “is not my problem anymore.”

“What the hell does that mean, Fox?”

The information hasn’t made its way down the line yet. It probably won’t be fully disseminated until the invasion has been repelled and no one’s in imminent danger of getting their head blown off because they’re trying to process that the Republic’s highest leader has been working against them for the past three years.

“Don’t worry about it,” Fox says. “Just keep firing.”

He can’t see Wolffe’s face but he’s known him for long enough to know that he’s getting a glare seething with absolute disgust. “At least keep your head down,” Wolffe says. “Can you manage that?”

“Where are the Generals?” Fox asks, instead of answering. “Kenobi said that Unduli and Windu were supposed to reinforce this front.”

“Chasing down Grievous.”

“Where is he?”

“We haven’t seen him yet,” Wolffe says. “The Generals went charging off into the droid lines to try to draw him out. They haven’t been back and comms are down, so if they’re dead, we won’t know.”

“General Koon?”

“Leading a strike out-of-atmosphere.” He doesn’t sound happy about it. “The rest of the 104th has been assigned to help the Guard hold the droids here.”

Fox is less than accustomed to being the bait, but he guesses there’s a first time for everything. Hunter. Hunted.

“What’s the deal with Ninety-Nine?” Wolffe asks. “Didn’t they just have a warrant out for their arrest?”

“It’s gone,” Fox says. “Don’t worry about it.”

“If you say that one more time—”

“We’ve got tanks on approach!” Thire barks. “Get down!”

Fox ducks instinctively, conscious of Wolffe doing the same in his peripheral. Something goes flying over his head, but he never hears the distant, ominous din that means a shell has impacted and is about to blow.

It’s not a shell.

It’s Ninety-Nine.

They’re charging the line of tanks head-on.

Wolffe blows out a long and exasperated sigh.

“Can’t argue with results,” Fox says. Three of the tanks are going up in flames. He swallows the manic, disbelieving laugh building in his chest. Wrecker’s charging at a fourth tank. He crouches, lifts, and throws his weight into the vehicle’s base. The tank teeters, tilts, and then crashes to the ground. Wrecker drives it into their ranks with a bellow like a cry of delight.

“ _Diniise_ ,” Wolffe says, but there’s a note of wry humor to it. “Every one of them.”

Fox shoves his shoulder. “Results,” he says again, and swings over the barricade and into the fight.

* * *

He can’t do this alone.

It rings in the back of Cody’s mind like an alarm. Kenobi stands as steadfast as always but for all of his efforts to restrain it, it still slips through the bond in bursts. Not just fatigue.

Fear.

“Cody,” Obi-Wan says quietly. He glances at the group gathered just outside, waiting for Yularen’s go-ahead, and takes a steadying breath. “I was wondering if I might ask something of you.”

“I’ll stay, General,” Cody says immediately.

There’s a rush of relief through the bond; it washes over Cody like a wave. “You’re much more familiar with battle meditation than Anakin is,” Obi-Wan says. “You can certainly be of more help.”

Help. Actively participate in battle meditation. Cody hesitates. “What do I do?” he asks haltingly. “I’ve never—”

Obi-Wan’s smile is wan, worn, but still warm. “What you always do,” he says. “I suspect you’ve already been engaging more than you know. Make your effort conscious. Reach out to your brothers. Bind them. Comfort them. Guide them.”

No uncertainty. No miscommunication. Perfectly attuned. Cody glances at the door. Rex catches his eye. Cody tilts his head toward Kenobi. Rex nods shortly.

See you on the other side.

Obi-Wan makes his way to the front of the bridge and stops just in front of the viewscreen. For a moment, he’s still, staring into the chaos and the carnage. Then he closes his eyes and very slowly lowers himself to his knees. Cody follows suit, carefully setting his helmet to the side. For a suffocating beat, his mind is deafeningly silent.

Just breathe.

It hits him like flood. _Stay close_ and _pick your targets_ and _form up on me_. There’s fire and fury, pulsing adrenaline and thrashing pain and the lingering echo of a man’s final scream. Cody’s breath catches in his throat. A gentle grip presses to his left shoulder, and Cody clasps his right hand over it.

Just breathe.

It’s a cacophony; for a long moment, Cody can’t make sense of his own mind. There’s a raucous roar: thousands of hoarse cries and pounding hearts and desperate wills driven to the brink. The web is tangled, the web is torn, he can’t reach all of them, he can’t find Rex, he can’t remember to breathe. He has to breathe.

No emotion; only peace. No passion; only serenity.

Just breathe.

Cody reaches out until he finds Obi-Wan in the turmoil. Kenobi trembles, his terror roils, and Cody presses _It’s me, I’m here, you’re not alone_. The hand on his shoulder squeezes – and stays – and holds.

 _Don’t let go_.

The chaos eases; the web extends. The strength sings like steel, rippling and raging like lightning in his veins. Seething bright, blazing white: power like the storm of a dying star’s core. Cody lets it flow through him then lets it flow away, pressing confidence and calm into the conduit and to every mind moving as one. _It’ s me, I’m here, you’re not alone_.

Just breathe. Just hold.

And go.

Obi-Wan jolts. It takes Cody a second to feel it, but when he does, he staggers. It’s a bleeding void, a wound like a scar that never healed. It feels like blistering flame; it burns like scathing fire. A raw thrum. A piercing whine. A ragged scream. A surging tide.

 _Get out of my head_.

In an instant, he knows.

“Fives,” Cody croaks, and he’s not sure if he says it out loud or in his mind. “It’s Fives.”

Fives rips at the web’s threads, writhing wildly. _It’s me_ , Cody says, and pushes calm to him. _Fives, it’s just me. It’s okay. It’s me_. _You’re safe_.

 _Get out of my head_.

“We have to get him out,” Cody says, strained. Fives didn’t accept the meditation when they were confronting the Chancellor and he won’t now. Why, Cody’s not sure; battle meditation’s not an invasion of the mind; it’s a projection of focus that enhances an army’s calm, coordination, confidence, and timing. The connection is clear to everyone it encompasses, but it’s to attune them, not read their thoughts telepathically.

“I know,” Obi-Wan says. His voice is hoarse with effort. “I’m trying.”

Between the fleet in space and the men on the ground, they’re linking over a million minds. Finding and then excluding one from the link is a monumental feat all its own. Cody grits his teeth.

 _It’s me, Fives. It’s Cody_.

 _Get out of my head_.

 _Don’t fight me_ , Cody says. _I’m trying, Fives._

 _Get out of my head_. It’s a shattering scream; it’s a shockwave of grief. A thousand lives lost. A million minds made machines. Now you see what no one will ever believe. Cody’s breath catches in his throat. For an instant, he’s there, staring into burning yellow eyes and a sick smile twisted by a sicker power. For an instant, his lungs are on fire and he’s running for his life. For an instant, he’s surrounded and he knows what he’s seen and he can’t breathe, he has to breathe, go for the weapon, get out alive.

Then they fire.

Then he dies.

For an instant, he was Fives.

 _It’s all right_ , Cody presses again, a desperate gasp. There are tears in his eyes, on his cheeks. It hurts to breathe. _It’s_ _all right, Fives. You’re safe. It’s me_.

It doesn’t soothe him. Nothing soothes him. Cody stretches out as far as he can manage, searching for the thread that will set Fives free, but the web is massive, tangled, and perfectly attuned, and pulling that one thread will undo it all.

He can’t let go.

Cody’s straining for a new solution when Fives stops struggling. The scream whispers away. The fire swells in new rage then, all at once, falls. In its place is a soothing cool, easing its way into the inferno and diminishing it from within. Fives’ fear and pain falters and fades and finally, melts away.

“What the hell was that?” Cody asks shakily, when he can breathe again. Kenobi’s grip on his shoulder spasms. He’s shaking too.

“I think,” Obi-Wan whispers, “that was Echo.”

* * *

“Someone wanna tell me what’s going on back there?”

Skywalker is tense at the boarding craft’s helm, guiding it expertly through the minefield that is the Separatist fleet. If he has any focus to spare to sort through the clattering chaos he just heard from the hold behind him, Echo’s sure it’s not much.

“Nothing, General,” he says. Fives is on the ground still struggling to take a steady breath so Echo stays kneeling beside him and keeps his hold on his shoulders. “We’re just…adjusting to the battle meditation. It’s weird.”

He’s also sure Skywalker wants a better explanation than that, but he doesn’t have the time to ask for it. “We’re almost there,” Anakin says. “Hold on to something.”

“I’m okay,” Fives croaks, swatting at Echo’s arm. He takes a deep breath and pushes himself to his feet, stumbling back to his seat. Echo follows him, vaguely aware of Ventress’ piercing stare. He meets it head-on; for a long beat, neither of them moves.

“Stop,” Fives mumbles, shoving Echo’s shoulder. “She’s on our side, remember?”

The hum in the back of Echo’s mind isn’t low and soothing; it’s loud, crackling, and discontinuous. Echo reaches into the building storm and wills it calm again. Beside him, Fives relaxes.

Echo doesn’t have the nerve to ask himself why he can do that.

The ship lurches dangerously. Skywalker swears. “Get ready to get out of here fast. They’re not thrilled about our visit.”

There’s no time to turn it over any more. Echo lunges to his feet with the others, handing a pack of detonators to Jesse and helping Dogma secure his own load. Their task is simple: get in, get to the main reactor, and plant the bombs. Dooku will doubtlessly be aware of their presence, so they’ll travel in two groups. Skywalker, Tano, and Ventress will locate Dooku, engage him, disable him, and secure him before he can escape.

The rest of them are on detonator duty.

The boarding craft doesn’t touch down; it rips across the bay and screeches to a halt. Skywalker swings the nose wide and takes out the squad of droids headed for the starfighters they just glided over. The ramp touches down. They charge out.

“Go take out the reactor,” Anakin orders. His saber hisses on. “We’ll get Dooku.”

Echo flanks Rex and Fives, conscious of Dogma and Jesse behind him. The last time he was on a mission without Force 99, he and Rex and Fives were the most elite ARCs in the 501st. Now Jesse and Dogma have joined the same ranks and, for all of the time he’s been away, Echo couldn’t be prouder to be fighting at their sides.

The reactor is on the lowest level. For the first few corridors, they encounter only minimal resistance. Maybe Skywalker, Tano, and Ventress are drawing the droids away, or maybe the battle is chaotic enough that their boarding craft has yet to be detected.

Or maybe they were just lucky.

“We’ve got incoming,” Rex barks.

They dispatch the droid squad with a fluid efficiency Echo didn’t know they possessed. Every ARC receives the same advanced training and every clone knows how to form a fireteam on the fly, but this feels unmistakably different; there’s a flawless flow to their coordination. He knows when Jesse’s going to charge the line so he can provide cover fire; he knows when Fives will drop and throw a spin-kick and when Rex and Jesse finish their targets and move to intercept the rest.

“So that’s what happens when you have battle meditation, huh?” Jesse asks, a voice for Echo’s awe. He tosses a B1’s head away. “I like it.”

“You okay?” Fives asks, and Echo nods, vaguely conscious of the low flame in the back of his mind. If it doesn’t flare, Fives is fine.

“The turbolift should take us to the reactor’s level,” Rex says, already moving again. “From there, we plant the detonators and get back to the ship. In and out.”

The ride is quiet. Dogma shifts uneasily from one foot to the other and taps a pistol against its holster. The turbolift’s shaft insulates them from the battle raging beyond it; everything is muffled and faraway. All Echo can hear is the soft shuffle of his brothers’ feet and his own breathing, harsh in his ears.

The reactor level is quiet. With all the alarms blaring distantly above, emergency lighting is on; the hallways are dim and bathed in a hazy red glow.

They move quickly down the corridor. Echo takes up guard with Fives one end of the corridor; Rex and Dogma cover the other while Jesse kneels to slice the console.

“This is going to take a minute,” Jesse mutters.

“Make it less,” Rex says.

“Doing my best, sir. This one’s more complicated than your standard Separatist lock.”

Behind them, Dogma shifts again. “Hang tight,” Fives says. “He’ll get it.”

“I know,” Dogma says tensely. “I just don’t like being caught in the open like this.”

Echo can’t say he disagrees with him. The corridor stretches long behind and in front of them. It’d be easy to put a few squads of droids on either side of them and move in for a quick kill. They’re completely exposed. They’d have nowhere to go.

“Jesse?” Rex asks.

The console sparks. Jesse yelps and waves his hand. “Working on it,” he says, through grit teeth. “ _Shab_ , what a mess.”

Echo keeps his weapons trained on his assigned sector. Nothing’s moving: not the shadows, not the haze. Still, the foreboding swells in his chest. His head is heavy; the air is thick.

It’s too quiet. Every nerve burns; his skin is too hot and too cold all at once. Beside him, Fives stiffens too. The hum in his mind becomes a ripple becomes a wave.

“We’re about to have company,” Fives says, even though there’s nothing on their HUDs and no footsteps clanking and clattering toward them. Echo tightens his hold on his pistols and strains to see, knowing Rex and Dogma are doing the same to the other end of the corridor.

“Jesse,” Rex says tightly, “get that door open.”

“Trying to,” Jesse says.

“You feel it too,” Fives murmurs.

“Yeah,” Echo says, and tries not to think about why. “I don’t think it’s droids.”

Fives’ hand drifts to his utility belt and settles over the saber. “Rex,” he says suddenly. The urgency builds in his voice. “We need the general here _now_.”

Rex doesn’t ask questions. “General Skywalker,” he says. “We’re at the reactor. We’re going to need some backup.”

 _“A little busy right now, Rex.”_ The audio is rife with static but Echo can still make out the droidekas. _“You’re gonna have to hold your own. We’re almost to the bridge.”_

“Dooku’s not on the bridge,” Fives says. He slings his blaster onto his back and clasps the saber’s hilt in his hands. Echo makes himself breathe, steady and even. Nothing’s moving. There’s nothing there. He’s so cold.

_“What do you mean, Dooku’s not on the bridge?”_

It’s so fast Echo can barely make it out: a shadow whipping down the corridor. It leaps from one wall to the other, launching high and cutting toward them in a whirling dive. Echo lifts his gauntlet to shield his head but the attacker is coming at them too fast. The blade burns crimson, bearing down on him. Echo flinches back.

Fives lunges and ignites his saber in the same instant. It hums a pale gold, gleaming in the gloom, and meets Dooku’s strike in a seething clash. Echo has half a beat to register the roiling shock in the Sith’s eyes before he’s gone, backflipping away from the struggle.

“A clone with a lightsaber,” he says, tucking one hand behind his back and twirling his saber to a new stance with the other. “I must say, that is…unexpected.”

“Dooku’s at the reactor room,” Rex snaps into the comm. “General Skywalker, I repeat, Dooku is at the reactor room.”

_“Hang in there, Rex. We’re on our way.”_

Hang in there. This isn’t the first Sith lord they’ve faced today, though Echo hopes it will be the last.

Fives shifts, saber held at the defensive. Every clone has been trained extensively in hand-to-hand combat, both with and without weapons; ARC troopers, even more so. Wielding the lightsaber with confidence and competence won’t be an issue.

It’s facing a Sith lord in single combat that might present a problem. Echo, Rex, and Dogma might be ARCs, but all they have are blasters and with Fives in the fray with a saber, targeting Dooku means giving Fives an extra obstacle to dodge. Maybe the battle meditation would take care of it. Maybe they’d get a clear shot.

But probably not.

“We just have to hold him,” Dogma says grimly. “Fives, we just have to hold him.”

“Easy for you to say,” Fives says lowly. Dooku hasn’t moved. In the fervid red glow of his blade, Echo can see his lips twist into a cruel smile.

“Almost there,” Jesse says. His voice is strained. “Almost there.”

“Are you certain you wouldn’t rather surrender?” Dooku asks. “It might prove to be more interesting than a duel.”

“We’ve already killed one Sith today,” Fives says. “What’s one more?”

Dooku chuckles. “You are very bold, ARC trooper. And very foolish.”

“Echo,” Fives says, and Echo shifts back to cover his six and shield Jesse. His heart is pounding.

They just have to hold him long enough for Skywalker to get here.

Dooku charges. Fives parries the first strike without giving ground, but Dooku’s strength is such that he has to take a step back to stop the second. It’s a relentless flurry, high then low then sweeping then stabbing, and it drives Fives back – again – again. One step. Two. Over. Rex and Dogma dive out of the way, weapons lifted and trained on the fight. They don’t fire.

They can’t risk hitting Fives.

“Jesse!” Rex growls. “The door!”

“Almost there!”

Fives regains his balance, launching a whirlwind of blows that forces Dooku onto the defensive. The Sith dodges the blows as if he knows where they’re going to land before Fives even decides. One hand remains behind his back. His saber barely shifts to block each slash. It’s a feat of footwork and carefully tempered control.

Fives is not controlled. He’s always been aggressive in combat, quick to finish the fight. He doesn’t conserve his energy for the second stage; he counts on winning in the first. Now, however, Echo’s sure that that aggression stems from desperation instead of determination. Even with the coordination of Kenobi’s battle meditation, the storm in Echo’s mind is full of fire and fear, wild and barely restrained.

“Got it!”

The door hisses open. Dooku’s gaze locks on Jesse. His hand comes out from behind his back and closes into a fist. Jesse snaps back like he’s been shot, then he’s flailing through the air. He collides with Fives and throws them both to the ground. Dooku leaps, saber held overhead. He’s locked in time, hovering at the apex of his arc.

“Fives!”

In that brief and infinite beat, Echo dives. The saber flies to his hand and he’s swinging it up and through. Crimson meets gold, a crackling crash, and Fives and Jesse scramble out of the way.

Dooku chuckles and thrusts his palm forward. It’s a wave, it’s a wall, it’s a wind rushing in his hears; Echo can’t tell which way is up or down and then his back hits the ground and rattles his teeth.

“Echo!” Fives cries, a distant plea past the ringing. Echo rolls to his feet and throws the saber just in time for Fives to catch it and step between Dooku’s blade and Rex’s throat.

Jesse and Dogma are nowhere to be seen. They must have gone inside the reactor room to plant the charges. The door is closed.

They’re on their own.

“Foolhardy,” Dooku says. His saber is locked with Fives’; he doesn’t shift his gaze. His arm shoots out: a tempest crackles from his fingertips.

Suddenly, Echo’s on fire. Suddenly, Echo can’t breathe.

The hum becomes a buzz becomes a storm, spiraling, seething, and swelling; it’s raw fear, it’s unrefined rage, rushing and rising and twining into a riptide. It blisters. It burns.

And it breaks free.

Fives screams, a shriek like a shockwave. Dooku cries out. The lightning stutters and stops and between struggling for his next breath and trying to stay upright, Echo can see the Sith stumble, clutching at his head. Rex is on the ground beside him. Rex isn’t moving.

“Rex—” Echo croaks, and reaches for him.

It’s as far as he gets. It hits him like an aftershock, a pulsing screech. Echo drops, shuddering into a ball and squeezing his eyes shut and clutching at his helmet. It hurts to think. He can’t remember to breathe.

He has to breathe.

“Dooku!”

Skywalker. Echo blinks desperately until his eyes focus. Three figures, all wielding sabers. Skywalker. Tano.

“Ventress,” Dooku says. He flicks his wrist. His saber twirls elegantly. “How could you have possibly come by the mask of Darth Revan?”

“I think you have a much more pressing matter to be concerned with right now,” Ventress says.

“That mask cannot change who you are,” Dooku says. “You will always be a failure of an apprentice.”

“No,” she says. “You are a failure of a master.”

As one, Ventress, Tano, and Skywalker launch their attack. Dooku rushes to meet them.

“Echo,” Fives says hoarsely. There’s a hand on his shoulder, pushing him to sit up. Once Echo’s slightly more vertical, Fives scrambles to Rex.

“I’m okay,” Rex coughs, swatting at his hands. “I’m okay. Where’s—”

“Dooku’s been engaged by General Skywalker’s team,” Echo says.

Rex nods slowly. Carefully, Fives helps them both to their feet. “Jesse,” Rex says. “What’s your status?”

The door rumbles open. “Charges are set,” Jesse says. “As soon as Dooku’s secured, we can get out of here.”

“That’s going to be harder than it sounds,” Dogma says. “Dooku was waiting for us to make a move on the reactor. He must have a backup plan.”

Fives blows out a breath. Echo swallows the urge to ask him about the scream. The storm is quiet, now – soothed. Better to keep it that way.

“I think they might actually do it,” Fives says. There’s a note of disbelief to his voice. Echo follows his gaze. Dooku’s surrounded; for all of his graceful agility, they’re overwhelming him. He stumbles.

It’s all they need. Skywalker swings a kick into his blade’s hilt, spins about, and holds his saber a few shimmering inches from Dooku’s throat.

“You’re done,” Anakin says. Ventress stretches out a hand and taps a finger to Dooku’s forehead.

He slumps.

“Teach me that trick,” Skywalker mutters, and hefts the Sith over his shoulder. Ventress snorts.

“What’s the plan?” Rex asks. “We still need to get off this ship.”

“We can’t go back the way we came in,” Ahsoka says. “They’ve cut that route off.”

“Well, we can’t stay here,” Anakin says, “so we’re gonna have to figure something out.”

“There’s another turbolift at the other end of the corridor,” Dogma reports. “I downloaded the schematics while Jesse was planting the charges. It leads to a maintenance bay. From there, we can make our way to the landing bay.”

“How long on the charges?” Anakin asks.

“Twenty minutes,” Jesse says, and taps his gauntlet. “Starting now.”

There’s no resistance on the way to the turbolift, or on the ride up. The door hisses open. Skywalker stops short.

The entire bay is full of droids – and every single one of them is leveling its aim at the turbolift.

\--


	18. War on two fronts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty minutes and the command ship goes up in flames: that's not the worst timeframe Jesse's ever faced.
> 
> Fox exercises his right to be absolutely batshit crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings
> 
> As always, thank you all for reading!

Oh, not good.

Skywalker, Ventress and Ahsoka throw their hands forward in unison. The first line of droids clatters back in a whirlwind. Jesse’s briefly grateful that they’re B1s and not commando units: no magnetized feet.

“Get to cover,” Rex barks, and dives left to duck behind a half-repaired shell of a trifighter. Fives and Echo are behind him. Jesse hunches over and follows Dogma to a pile of crates off to the right. As soon as he’s clear of fire, he risks a glance around the corner. The bay is littered with the remains of droid ships. Trying to rush the space to reach the door on the opposite side means crossing the length of the bay and dodging obstacles all the way. The good news is that the wreckage could be used as cover.

The bad news is that they’d be surrounded on all sides, so cover wouldn’t really matter. The turbolift is situated in the back corner, so theoretically they could stick to the perimeter, keep the saber-wielders in front to deflect the fire, and then push their way around to the door on the far wall, but that would be time-consuming, and with the way this place is wired to blow, Jesse’s not sure they’d have time to get to their ship before the reactor breached and took them with it.

Ventress, Skywalker, and Tano split between the two positions, Ventress to the left and Skywalker and Tano to the right. The droids aren’t advancing yet, content to corner and kill them from a distance.

At least they have the crates.

“Any genius ideas?” Dogma asks.

“Might not be genius,” Jesse says, “but yeah, I do have an idea.”

“Care to share it with the rest of us?” Skywalker asks. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Rex,” Jesse calls. “You remember Anaxes?”

“What, with Ninety-Nine?” Rex asks.

“Shockwave,” Jesse says, and waves a hand at the crates. One of them is at least two heads taller than he stands, so he won’t have to worry about getting his brains blown out while crouching behind it. “Commander Tano and Ventress can position the boxes in a ‘v’ at the front. We’ll keep inside the space and use the crates like a barricade to push through. General Skywalker can deflect fire and move wreckage. The rest of us will keep blasting.”

“And we can go right down the middle,” Rex says.

Anakin’s face twists into a smile. Jesse feels a surge of pride. “All right,” Skywalker says. “Let’s get this done.”

“And if they start shooting at us from above or circle behind us?” Ventress asks dryly.

“Then we’ll shoot back,” Fives says. “It’s not that hard.”

“You can’t shoot back if you’re dead.”

“Then don’t get dead,” Echo interrupts. There’s a hint of annoyance to his tone. Jesse can’t miss the way he’s positioned himself between Ventress and Fives; even in armor, the tense set of his spine is obvious.

At least for now, she’s on their side.

“Moving,” Ahsoka calls, and lifts a crate. It slams down on the nearest droid fireteam, scattering them in a shower of sparks. Ventress follows her lead.

“Moving,” Skywalker echoes, hands Dooku off to Ahsoka, and leaps atop the crates. He has one foot balanced on each one, deflecting fire with a speed that, sometimes, Jesse’s sure should be impossible.

Jedi or not, Force or not, his reflexes are unbelievable.

Jesse follows the others into the space between the crates and together, they form an arc at the rear. The Force-wielders will push through at the front. All the ARCs have to do is keep laying down fire and stay inside the barricade.

The droids must not have a tactical unit working with them. They blast at the sides of the crates, but never do more than turn themselves ninety degrees to keep shooting after their enemies have cleared a corridor. Jesse’s never been more grateful to be battling a predictable enemy.

“How are we looking back there?” Skywalker asks, strained.

Jesse casts a glance at Ahsoka and hopes that whatever Ventress did to knock the Sith out sticks and he doesn’t wake up suddenly and start slaughtering them.

That’d put a real damper on the plan.

“Fine,” Ahsoka yells back. She has one hand outstretched to shift the crates in time with Ventress; the other wields her shoto, deflecting any fire that makes it past the ARC line. “Keep moving!”

Keep firing. He blasts one droid but there are three more to take its place. Jesse grits his teeth.

They better be close.

“Get ready to charge,” Skywalker shouts. Jesse glances over his shoulder just in time to see the General backflip off the crates. He lands in a crouch and thrusts his hands forward. The crates fly through the door. There’s a loud screech and a burst of explosions.

“And just like that, no more droidekas,” Skywalker says, as if that explains everything. He flashes a grin. “Come on!”

They charge after him. Rex stops to snap off a shot into the console to seal the door, then he’s back at Jesse’s side, racing toward Ventress and Skywalker and Tano.

“Time?” Rex asks.

“Twelve minutes,” Jesse says.

“The landing bay is close,” Dogma says. He juts his chin slightly. “It’s right up there.”

“You wanna bet it’s crawling with droids too?”

“I don’t want to make any bets with you.” And Dogma laughs. Actually laughs.

“You’re doing a lot for my confidence right now, Dogma,” Jesse grumbles. “Never thought I’d see you joking around during an op.”

“It’s not a joke,” Dogma says. “I just wouldn’t bet against you. Luck seems to run your way.”

If only that was true. Jesse skids to a stop. “Right again,” Dogma says mildly, pressing his back to the wall. Ventress and the Jedi stand strong in the doorway, dodging blaster bolts or deflecting them back. “See what I mean?”

“How is this lucky?” Jesse demands.

“I didn’t say it was _good_ luck.”

“We’re gonna have to push through,” Anakin says. “They haven’t blasted the ship yet.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Jesse mutters, and follows him into the inferno.

It’s like stepping into a storm. Jesse crouches low and double-times it, ducking behind a droid starfighter to return fire. Fives and Echo are at his side.

For a second, it feels like old times.

“Eight minutes!” Jesse barks.

Skywalker, Ventress, and Tano are pressing their advance. “We have to go,” Rex grits out, and rushes forward. Dogma goes with him.

This is their only chance.

They forge across the bay. The blaster bolts are so close Jesse swears he can feel them searing his face. He wonders, briefly, if they’d have been blasted to oblivion by now if it wasn’t for the battle meditation.

“Get ready to run for it,” Skywalker orders. “We’ll cover you.”

Jesse knows better than to ask him _What about you?_ He waits.

Breathes.

Waits.

“Now!”

Fives is the first to reach the ramp. He’s barely set foot on it when a cry rings out, clear through the chaos

“ _Wait—_ ”

It’s not Skywalker or Tano or one of the other ARCs. It’s Ventress. In an instant, Jesse sees what she must have felt a beat before. There’s a droid gunship careening toward the bay, spinning in a death knell.

It’s headed right for their boarding craft.

Fives’ head snaps up. Jesse’s heart is in his throat. It’s too close.

It’s too late

Fives drops his head and crosses his arms over it like somehow, that small act will save him from a shower of slag and scorching fire. Distantly, Jesse’s aware of Echo screaming _Fives!_ , of Rex demanding action instead of frozen silence. The gunship’s bearing down. Fives is an unmoving outline. Jesse’s heart stops.

For an unbearable breath of a moment, the world stands still.

Ventress whips by, a lithe shadow at Jesse’s right. She gathers herself and leaps, somersaulting through the air and landing perfectly on the nose of the boarding craft. It puts her right in the path of the onslaught. She’s a silhouette cast against its perilous light.

She stretches her palms forward, braces one foot back – and holds.

The gunship breaches the ray shield; the hull twists and groans; the frame warps, dragging metal against metal in a shattering screech. It rushes toward her, spiraling beyond any control.

Too close. Too close.

Ventress presses against it, silent and straining, and then thrusts her hands further forward and looses a soul-piercing scream. Jesse feels it ripple across his mind like a wave, a shadow of some nightmare power that siphons strength from unfathomable pain. It’s there – a sickness like an ache – and then it’s gone.

The gunship bends to it, buckling in two. The pieces separate with a shriek, hurling wide of the landing craft and Fives to smash into the back of the bay. They hang there for a brief and unfaltering moment, smoking and seething, then fall, crushing the droid squads beneath them.

Echo rushes to Fives’ side, dragging him to his feet and hauling him onto the ship. Dogma’s next, then Skywalker with Dooku. Rex shoves Jesse onboard and follows him. Tano’s last, hovering at the hatch. Ventress lands heavily on the ramp, breathing hard. She lets Tano put an arm around her shoulders and guide her to a seat.

“Keep an eye on him,” Skywalker says, slapping at the ramp controls and stabbing a finger at Dooku. He’s settled the Sith in a corner; someone put energy binders on him.

Even surrounded and restrained, Jesse knows he’s still a threat.

The landing craft roars to life, ripping out of the bay with enough force to throw them all back against their seats. Jesse’s teeth are rattling. Beside him, Dogma’s clutching the seat’s grips so hard Jesse’s sure his knuckles are white beneath his gloves.

“Still don’t like flying?” Jesse asks, and Dogma chokes something like a laugh.

“Only General Skywalker’s.”

Jesse’s been on enough missions at his side to know that’s a lie, but there’s really no point in calling him on it now. “Hang in there,” Jesse says, wrapping a hand around his wrist. “We’re almost through.”

The ship shudders; Skywalker throws them into a roll and Jesse’s suddenly grateful for the straps secured across his chest. Dogma’s muttering beside him, a three-word mantra: _ijaa o’r gett’se_. Honor in courage.

It’s what Rex told them when they finished his ARC training regime and earned their pauldrons and kamas. It was one of the proudest moments of Jesse’s life.

“ _Ijaa o’r gett’se_ ,” Jesse murmurs, and squeezes Dogma’s wrist.

He knows the second the command cruiser’s reactor blows. The wave rages from the epicenter, engulfing the surrounding Separatist ships in a scarlet blaze. Their own craft strains and screams as it shoots away. Jesse presses his back to the seat and holds on to Dogma.

“We’re almost through,” he repeats. “We’re almost through, Dogma.”

The boarding craft doesn’t touch down in the _Resolute’s_ bay as much as it shrieks in and slams to an abrupt stop, but as long as he’s still breathing, Jesse doesn’t really care how ugly the General’s landing was.

“You okay?” he asks, and waits for Dogma’s nod before he lets go.

“Everyone in one piece?” Anakin asks. Jesse chimes into the affirmative chorus without really thinking about it. With the way his ears are ringing and his head is spinning, it takes him a minute to believe it’s actually true.

It’s only Ventress that doesn’t speak or stand, hunched double in her seat with her arms braced on her knees.

“Hey,” Fives says, stopping beside her. “Thanks for the save.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” she grits out without raising her head. “If that gunship had hit, it would have killed me too.”

“Still,” Fives says. “Thank you.”

She snorts at that and slowly straightens. Fives holds out a hand. She stares at it warily for a beat then lets him pull her to her feet. Jesse helps Dogma hoist Dooku and together, they drag him after Skywalker into the bay.

“Admiral Yularen, how are things looking up there?” Skywalker asks, pressing a hand over the comm in his ear.

 _“Well done,”_ Yularen says, crackling through Jesse’s helmet. _“The command cruiser has been successfully eliminated. The Separatist fleet is in disarray.”_

“Are they pulling back?”

_“Not yet. I’ve had the men ready your starfighter. As soon as you’ve regrouped, I need you out there.”_

“We’ve got Dooku,” Anakin says. “I need a full trooper escort to secure him in the brig.”

_“I will dispatch one immediately.”_

“He won’t wake up until I tell him to,” Ventress says. There’s a note of uncomfortable unease to her voice. Maybe she just realized where she’s standing.

If Skywalker notices, he doesn’t mention it. “Jesse, Dogma, get Dooku secured. Rex, get all the men you can together and get down to the surface. They’re gonna need reinforcements to capture Grievous.”

Anakin’s gaze stops on Ahsoka. That confident smile cracks a little. “Ahsoka,” he says hesitantly.

She offers him a shadow of a smile. “I’ll give you my help,” she says. “But when this is over, I’m going to need yours.”

“Anything,” Anakin says. “Just name it.”

“Not that this hasn’t been fun,” Ventress interjects, “but I think I’ve done my part.”

Her posture is coiled, shoulders set back. Her hands rest at her hips, close to her sabers. Fives tilts his head at her. “You’ve come this far,” he says. “Why bail now?”

It gives her pause. “If you help us,” Ahsoka says, “you’ll get your full pardon.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Ventress says coolly, and folds her arms over her chest. “What guarantee do I have this time?”

“I’ll lobby for you,” Fives drawls.

“You’re legally dead.”

“That just means I have the element of surprise.”

She scoffs at that, but she doesn’t protest any further. Jesse guesses that’s about as much of an agreement as they’re going to get.

People do funny things when they’re desperate.

“Fine,” Skywalker says, with a glance at Fives. Fives shrugs helplessly. “Ventress and Ahsoka will accompany Rex’s teams to the surface.”

Echo stiffens at that. Behind him, the door to the bay swishes open and the escort Yularen dispatched marches through. Skywalker sweeps his gaze over the group a final time, flashes them a confident smile, and races for his starfighter. Jesse has no doubt R2-D2 is already aboard it.

“You heard the General,” Rex says. “Let’s get moving.”

* * *

Coruscant looks different from down here.

“Fox, you better not be dead,” Wolffe says, an irritated voice and a blurry outline swimming above him. Fox blinks until the ringing fades and his eyes focus.

“Stealing a tank,” Wolffe grouses, pulling him to his feet. “What kind of a plan was that?”

“One that got us results,” Fox says.

Wolffe chuffs a disbelieving laugh. There’s no mirth to it. “No, it was one that could’ve gotten you killed,” he says. “You’re lucky you got out in time.”

Fox snorts. In the distance, the Bad Batch is running reconnaissance on the surrounding area, searching out any droids that might have escaped the original onslaught. The rest of the Guard and 104th are hauling the wounded back to the makeshift triage center set up at the Senate building.

“Do we have eyes on the Generals?” Fox asks.

“No,” Wolffe says. “And long-range comms are still down.”

Fox grimaces. There’s no way to know how much of the enemy’s forces they’ve depleted. The armada never seems to end, and their own battle-ready men are fatigued and failing fast. “When was the last time anyone saw Grievous?” he asks. “Maybe he’s already dead.”

“If only.” Wolffe kicks at a piece of rubble. “We’re never that lucky.”

“If we fall back to the Senate building, we’ll be less exposed,” Fox says, and hits his comm; short-range, at least, is still functional. “Squad leaders, gather up the wounded and regroup at the Senate building. I don’t want us out in the open if they send bombers through.”

 _“Yes, Commander,”_ Thire says promptly, and directs his squad back. All around him, the other squad leaders begin the same maneuver.

 _“Heads up, Commanders: you’ve got incoming,”_ Hunter says.

Fox dives for cover, conscious of Wolffe at his side. He holds his breath without meaning to, waiting for the screams to start.

Despite the explosions in the sky, the air down here is suffocating and silent. No bomber’s shriek. No fiery trail.

No massacre.

“What’s incoming?” Wolffe hisses over the comm. “Sergeant, what’s incoming?”

 _“The next wave,”_ Crosshair supplies. _“They’re headed your way.”_

“Great,” Wolffe mutters. Fox dares to peer around the edge of the tank’s shattered hull. The corridor is clear of live hostiles – for now.

“Squad leaders,” Fox says, “get your men back to the Senate building _now_.”

“Have you seen the generals?” Wolffe demands. “Where the hell are they?”

 _“Unknown,”_ Tech says. _“We’ll have to manage without them.”_

 _“Grievous most likely doesn’t know about the Chancellor,”_ Hunter says. _“The Republic’s been jamming all long-range communications since the incident. He’s still out here somewhere.”_

“He doesn’t know _what_ about the Chancellor?” Wolffe asks.

No time for that. “What’s he been doing this whole time, then?” Fox asks.

 _“Engaging the generals, maybe,”_ Tech says. _“Or waiting for his troops to clear a path to the Senate building before he made his attempt.”_

It’s not much of a strategy for an expedient extraction, but then, maybe Grievous wasn’t counting on this kind of resistance.

Or maybe he circled around behind while his forces marched on the front. The assault would draw all available units to support it, save a skeleton security crew. It would minimize resistance – and it would explain why they haven’t seen the Generals.

“Wolffe,” Fox says tensely, “I think we’ve been outflanked.”

“What?”

“Grievous has to have circled back,” Fox says. “That’s why we haven’t seen him yet. He’s already in the Senate building.”

“So we’re surrounded.” Wolffe snarls something vulgar under his breath. “That’s great.”

All of the wounded are in the Senate behind a barricade. Grievous won’t hesitate to cut right through them in his rage. If he made it to the Chancellor’s office and discovered his target has already been dispatched, he’ll be furious and looking for a way to settle the score; outflanking the Republic lines is the most immediate and obvious option.

Any clone in his path will be as good as dead.

“We’ve got to get the wounded out of here,” Fox says. “They won’t stand a chance.”

“Where are we going to take them, Fox? We’re pinned. If we move them out into the open, they’ll get blasted. If we leave them here, Grievous massacres them.”

“Then we have to stop Grievous.”

“Ninety-Nine,” Wolffe says. “Get down here. We’re gonna need you.”

The next wave is marching down the corridor. Fox darts back to the Senate building, leaping over the barricades and rushing toward the triage area. Wolffe is on his heels.

The grand lobby is empty and dark, littered with the remains of a few droids that made it this far. There are deep scores scarred into the elegant stone. One corner houses the medics and their charges.

“Tell me you have a plan,” Wolffe says.

“I do,” Fox says. “When Grievous shows up, I’m going to tell him I killed the Chancellor.”

“Did you?” Wolffe asks. He sounds unfazed.

“Long story,” Fox says. “I’ll explain later.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Sorry.” He’s not. “I’ll draw Grievous away. Once Ninety-Nine’s set up, I’ll lead him back around.”

“Just so we’re clear,” Wolffe says, “your plan is to run for your life.”

“Only until Ninety-Nine is set up,” Fox corrects. “Or the Generals get back.”

“This is a stupid plan.”

“Do you have a better one?”

Facing Grievous head-on is suicide. Wolffe tilts his head. “No,” he says at last. “I don’t.”

“Great,” Fox says, and claps him on the shoulder. Wolffe blows out a long-suffering breath.

“Don’t get killed,” Wolffe says. “And don’t get too far away. Your comm’ll cut out.”

At least he has the decency not to ask what’ll happen if Grievous starts tearing through their lines like a whirlwind instead of taking a second to consider Fox’s taunt.

Having some chance is better than having none at all.

In here, the din of the battle is dimmed and distant. Fox can hear the shuffle of his own steps through the rubble; his breath is a harsh rasp in his ears. In his peripheral, the medics are quickly tending to injuries, sending the men who can safely manage it back to the fight. The others they sequester in the corner. Fox can’t miss the way they’ve arranged their charges; if anything makes it into this chamber, they’ll have to go through the medics before they can touch the wounded.

Exon should be here.

Fox pushes the thought away.

He hears Grievous before he sees him, a skittering metal screech that stands every nerve on end. Grievous clatters into the grand hall and stops short, separating and contorting his limbs until he stands at his full height. A deep laugh rumbles out of his chest, stuttering into a rattling cough.

“Clones,” he seethes. His sabers ignite.

“Sorry about the Chancellor,” Fox blurts, before he can think of a better line.

Grievous wheezes what must be his take on a snarl. “The Chancellor?” he growls. His sabers twirl at his side. Fox risks a glance to the corner; the medics have formed a barricade around the wounded.

“Yeah,” Fox says with a helpless shrug. His heart is pounding. Maybe it’s the stims. Four sabers. Cody told him the stories. That’s still a lot of blades to dodge. “I beat you to him.”

Grievous’s eyes burn. Beaten by a clone. “You executed your own Chancellor?” he sneers, and coughs another laugh.

“I did,” Fox says. “Personally.”

A rumbling roar builds in Grievous’s chest. The sabers spin, faster and faster. Fox stands his ground. Not yet. Not yet. “Coruscant Guard emergency protocol sixty-six,” he says. “I wrote it myself.”

The roar builds to its breaking point. Grievous lunges. Fox darts back and away. The stone that makes up the lobby’s floor offers little traction when it’s clean; covered in a thin sheen of dust, it’s perilously slippery. He skids his way into the hall more than he sprints.

He glances over his shoulder. Grievous followed him.

It worked.

Grievous is gaining.

“ _Shab_ ,” Fox hisses. His heart is beating wildly. “ _Shab_.”

He knows the Senate building like the back of his hand; Grievous doesn’t. That gives him an advantage, albeit a small one. All the schematics in the world won’t save him from being cut apart by a quadruple swing.

Grievous is gaining.

Grievous is laughing.

He’s never going to shut up. Cody said that too. Fox throws himself into passage after passage, all-too-conscious of the ominous cackle scuttling along behind him. He swears he can feel the sabers’ searing heat at his back.

Don’t get caught.

Don’t get cleaved.

Don’t get killed.

Fox flings himself into the stairwell, scrambling up the steps. He has three thermal detonators on his belt; he sets the first and slings it over his shoulder as soon as he hears the door being broken down. It explodes in a rattling wave. Grievous coughs. Fox thinks he might have heard a thud.

It would be too much to hope Grievous went down that easy.

Grievous rasps a threat Fox can’t hear over the blood pounding in his ears. He’s getting closer. He’s too close.

Fox can’t outrun him.

Fox slams through the closest door, heedless of the level, and triggers his comm. “Wolffe,” he calls, and hopes he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels. “How’s that plan coming?”

All he gets is static. Don’t get too far away, Wolffe said. Well, he’s already failed that part.

He still has a shot at ‘don’t get killed.’

This is a maintenance level. Usually the door would require a security swipe, but with all the damage done to the Senate building by the invasion, the lock must not have engaged properly. There’s a service turbolift at the end of the hall that’ll take him up until he or the building itself tells it to stop.

Assuming it’s still working. Assuming he doesn’t get skewered before he makes it that far.

Fox clutches the second thermal detonator in his palm and sprints for his life down the corridor. He doesn’t have time to turn around. He doesn’t dare try. When he feels the terror shoot down his spine, he lets the thermal detonator roll out of his palm.

The explosion throws him forward. Fox lands flat on his chest. It knocks the air out of his lungs, and for a second his only focus is whether he can even manage his next breath after the resounding crack that rattled through his ribs. It’s your armor. It’s just your armor.

You have to get up.

There’re four hisses behind him: Grievous’s sabers reigniting. Fox scrambles forward, flailing to stand and stumble-sprinting the final feet to the turbolift. He slaps at the trigger until the doors groan open, then dives inside and demands they close just as quickly. Grievous is charging after him, bellowing his triumph. Fox whips out his pistol and snaps off a few shots. He can’t stop him, but maybe he can slow him down.

The door struggles shut. Fox releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The lift rattles up. He almost sags in his relief.

Almost.

If he had, he’d be dead.

Fox jolts away from the seething green saber searing through the back wall and nearly impales himself on the blue one breaking through the front. Two more stab down from the ceiling, a flurry of fury, and it’s left, right, duck, down, dodge, hold, breathe. Don’t move. Don’t move.

Go.

It feels like a dance. Somehow, he knows where to step. Fox doesn’t have the chance to question it. Call it luck.

And run.

The lift’s door clatters open and Fox rushes out, dimly aware that that nightmare clattering is closing. This is the highest level of the Senate building; it’s reserved for Senate security forces and the Guard. It’s meant to be an observatory, but it also houses a safe-room in the event of an emergency. If he can lure Grievous into the room, maybe he can trap him. Stall him. Something.

His plan lasts as long as it takes him to turn the corner.

The corridor only runs halfway as far as it should. Beyond that is a ragged hole and the burning Coruscant skyline. The wind whips through the space. An entire chunk of the building has been blown away.

Fox skids to a stop.

He can’t stop.

Grievous rounds the corner too. The rush of the pressure change gives him pause. He straightens and twirls his sabers, slow, then faster – faster. Fox inches backwards.

“Nowhere left to go,” Grievous says. His eyes gleam murder. Fox glances over his shoulder and shudders a breath.

Grievous charges. Fox spins. One step, two, and he’s at the edge. His heart’s in his throat. Grievous is close. Too close.

Hold

Hold.

Go.

Fox throws himself into the freefall.

\--


	19. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolffe doesn't have much patience to begin with. Fox seems determined to test the little he's managed to keep.
> 
> Winning's starting to look like the easy part. For Cody and Rex, it's the explanation that'll be hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings
> 
> As always, thank you all for reading! <3

“Where the hell did you get that?”

“Do you really want to know, Commander?” Hunter asks.

“No,” Wolffe says immediately. “Not really.”

The gunship is barely serviceable but somehow, Clone Force Ninety-Nine has gotten it to fly. Wolffe takes two long, bounding steps and propels himself up to the troop bay. Wrecker catches his wrist and pulls him inside.

“Where are we headed?” Tech calls from the cockpit. The glass has been blown away; if it wasn’t for the helmet comms, Wolffe wouldn’t be able to hear him over the rush of the wind.

“Take us up,” Wolffe says.

“Why up?” Crosshair asks.

“I just have a feeling,” Wolffe says grimly. “Take us to the top, Tech.”

There are only so many passages Fox can navigate in the Senate building before Grievous catches up to him. Taking a zigzag course to the upper levels would buy him the cover of a curling staircase and inhibit Grievous’s movements. Being a seven-foot cyborg has its advantages in close combat, but in the comparatively narrow corridor of a Senate service shaft, his frame would be a hindrance.

Wolffe wants to believe that Fox is smart enough to realize that and incorporate it into his escape route, but then, his entire plan revolves around running for his life until backup maybe arrives, so maybe he’s finally lost the last brain cell he had.

Tech shifts the gunship slowly, tracing the Senate’s scarred outline with their course. Wolffe strains for any sign. Blaster-fire. Blazing last stands.

An explosion works too.

“Tech!”

“On it,” Tech replies shortly. The gunship doesn’t turn as much as it groans over the gradual gradient to which it’s subjected, but at least it doesn’t rattle apart.

“C’mon, Fox,” Wolffe mutters. “Where are you?”

There’s a Mando’a word for an act of complete and utter reckless stupidity: _jaro_. It’s a term Wolffe heard Jango warn Havoc against every once in a while back on Kamino, but never Fox. No, Fox is level-headed. Fox is strict and by-the-book.

Fox would never hurl himself off the highest level of the Senate building on the off-chance he heard an LAAT/i gunship somewhere below him.

“Catch him!” Wolffe snaps. It’s hard to remember to breathe. His throat is tight with rage or fear or both.

If the fall doesn’t kill Fox, Wolffe will.

The gunship lurches and rattles as it climbs. Wolffe wraps a hand around the edge of the troop bay and leans out as far as he can manage. They get one chance at this.

Don’t miss.

Tech swerves the gunship at the last second. Wolffe’s hand shoots out and finds Fox’s wrist gauntlet. The momentum of the sudden stop jolts him toward the edge. He stumbles and lets go of the gunship in an effort to regain his balance, but all it does is pitch him further forward.

“Hang on,” Wrecker says, and suddenly Wolffe’s on the floor of the troop bay breathing hard. Fox is beside him.

“ _Di’kut_ ,” Wolffe hisses. Fox coughs a ragged breath, trying to say something; when that fails, he just points.

Wolffe follows his gaze.

Grievous leaps from the same floor Fox must have been standing on, barking a rasping laugh to the sky. There’s a decisive thud as he hits the top of the gunship, then an ear-piercing screech as he digs his talons into its plating. A heated hiss, a muffled crash, and the engines stutter and stop.

He’s slashing at their ship.

He’s going to knock them out of the sky.

“Hold on!” Tech yells. “We are most definitely going to crash.”

Four sabers whirl into the troop bay, angled for Hunter’s head. Grievous isn’t far behind. Wrecker gives a cry and throws his weight into Grievous’s side. Grievous stumbles, snarling, and Wrecker takes the chance he’s given, wrapping a hand around Grievous’s closest arm and flinging him from the craft.

The gunship is in a tailspin, screaming fire and smoke. Tech yells something over the comm but it’s so garbled Wolffe can’t make it out. He gets one of Fox’s arms around his shoulders and hauls him to his feet.

“We’re gonna have to jump,” he yells over the screeching whine. “Hang on to me.”

“I’m fine,” Fox bites out. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Like hell, Fox.”

“Look out!” Crosshair snaps, throwing himself into Wolffe and taking all three of them down. It’s barely in time. Grievous’s strike goes sailing over his head to sear through what’s left of the gunship’s side. Dimly, Wolffe realizes that he must have driven his claws into the hull and gone scuttling under the ship and to the other side.

Fox lunges to his knees and levels his pistol at Grievous. He doesn’t get the chance to fire. Grievous’s lower right arm snaps out, closes around Fox’s throat, and lifts him high. Fox’s pistol clatters down and away. He claws at his neck. Even through the screeching chaos that saturates his comm, Wolffe can hear his desperate, heaving gasps.

Grievous draws back a seething blue saber and laughs. He should just stab him, sling his body away, and leap out of the doomed craft, but he takes a moment to savor it –takes a moment to gloat. Wolffe’s heart is in his throat. Can’t fire. They’ll hit Fox. Can’t get to him – not in time.

Don’t die.

The gunship stops falling so suddenly Wolffe’s almost thrown into oblivion. As it is, he goes face-first into Wrecker’s chestplate and nearly condemns them both to a very messy death.

Grievous flings Fox aside in favor of avoiding the same fate. Wolffe would breathe a sigh of relief – except that Fox is flying over the side of the gunship.

“Fox!” Wolffe cries, and scrambles toward Grievous and the edge, ripping Hunter’s grip away from his shoulder. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do. He doesn’t know what he can do.

He has to try.

Grievous roars at something Wolffe can’t see and whirls about. He crouches, gathers, and launches himself into the sky. His talons find purchase in the Senate building and he punches through, again and again, skittering back and forth to dodge the blaster bolts.

They’re blue.

Someone’s shooting at him.

A lot of someones are shooting at him. Wolffe leans out to look up.

He’s never been so happy to see Ahsoka Tano in his life.

Tano stands strong in a gunship above them. Her eyes are pressed closed. Her arms are outstretched. She’s straining so hard she’s shaking. Slowly, the gunship begins to descend. Wolffe takes a deep breath and swallows against the lump in his throat.

Just get it over with.

He makes himself look down.

Rex is hovering just below him with a jetpack. He has his arms hooked under Fox’s, holding him tightly to his chest. “Commander,” Rex says.

“Rex,” Wolffe says, with an exhale like an explosion. “About time you made it down here.”

“The Separatist command ship is gone,” Rex says. “General Skywalker is leading the assault out-of-atmosphere. The Separatist fleet looks to be pulling back.”

“Did we get reinforcements?” Wolffe asks. Badly outnumbered and thoroughly outgunned: repelling the invasion hadn’t looked likely at all. “How are we winning?”

“We’re just that good,” Rex says, and Wolffe gets the distinct impression it’s more of a dodge than an actual explanation. Maybe Rex doesn’t know. For the moment though, Wolffe doesn’t care.

As soon as the gunship touches down, he goes for Fox.

“ _Di’kut_ ,” Wolffe says, grasping his shoulders and knocking their helmets together as gently as he can.

Fox chuffs a laugh. Behind him, the 501st gunships are blasting their way through the oncoming droid lines. The rest of the Guard and 104th step back. “Sorry,” he says hoarsely. “It worked though, didn’t it?”

“ _Di’kut_ ,” Wolffe repeats, and squeezes his shoulders again. “You’re crazy, _vod_.”

Fox nods weakly. “We should get back out there.”

Wolffe looks him up and down. Get back out there. Fox is barely in one piece. “No,” Wolffe says. “We can handle this. You’re done.”

“I’m not going to sit on my _shebs_ while the rest of my men are—”

“That’s not a question,” Wolffe says.

Fox doesn’t have the energy to argue; his shoulders sag. Wolffe eases an arm around him and helps him to the Senate building. “You don’t outrank me,” Fox mutters. “For the record.”

“Just stay here,” Wolffe says, and presses him down next to the others. “If the medics say you’re fine, you can help them with the wounded.”

“I can fight,” Fox mumbles. “Let me fight, Wolffe.”

“Stay here.”

Fox tugs his helmet over his head and slowly sets it aside. When he meets Wolffe’s gaze, he’s glaring over the dark circles beneath his eyes. “Stay here,” Wolffe repeats. “Promise me you’ll do that.”

Fox scowls.

“Fox.”

“I promise.”

The oncoming droids have been completely demolished by the time Wolffe makes it back outside. Rex is blasting the last of them alongside his ARCs. “Where’s Grievous?” Wolffe asks.

Rex twirls his pistols and replaces them in his holsters. “Making a run for it,” he says. “Commander Tano and Ventress are giving chase.”

Seething rage rips through his veins. Wolffe takes a measured breath. Breathe, _ad’ika_ , _Plo’buir_ would say. “Ventress,” he says tightly. “What’s she doing here?”

The stiff set of Rex’s shoulders tells him the Captain’s apparently only just realized that that’s a name he should have kept to himself. “Long story,” Rex says. “I’ll explain later.”

“People keep saying that,” Wolffe says dryly. “I guess you know what happened to the Chancellor, too.”

Rex shrugs helplessly.

“Yeah,” Wolffe says. “I thought so.” He takes a deep breath. “Do we have new orders, or are those classified too?”

“Blast the droids. Clean up Coruscant.”

“That,” Wolffe says, “I can do.”

* * *

He hears it like an echo of a dream.

 _It’s over_.

The web fades away, shadows and sparks. Cody comes back to himself slowly. Dimly, he realizes his knees are stiff. His back aches. He’s still clutching the hand Kenobi put on his shoulder. It takes him a long beat to remember how to move his limbs enough to let go.

Obi-Wan lurches forward, bracing his hands on the deck. “I’m all right,” he says, before Cody can reach for him. “That was just…draining.”

Cody’s veins are still lightning and adrenaline. His heart is pounding. “Haven’t crashed yet,” he reports, though he can feel the creeping fatigue in every muscle of his frame. “I’m sure it’ll hit me.”

Kenobi chuffs a laugh. “I’m sure,” he says, and eases upright, clutching the console to get to his feet. Cody follows him, tugging his helmet on. His legs wobble.

“Grievous escaped,” Cody says.

“Yes.” Kenobi’s eyes are dark. “But we have Dooku in custody and successfully repelled the Separatist fleet. I think in many respects, we can consider this a victory.”

A victory. Cody wonders about it as they board the gunship that will take them down to Coruscant. They’ve been locked in a stalemate with the Separatists for so long, seizing one front only to lose another. Now, for all the fire and the smoke staining the Coruscant skyline, Cody can’t help but feel as if the tide has finally turned.

For the first time in three years, there’s an end in sight.

The gunship soars past the Senate building. Cody casts Kenobi a quizzical glance. “We’re not going to help with cleanup?” Cody asks.

Kenobi’s face is grim. “No,” he says. “I’ve been ordered back to the Temple. Apparently, they want me to explain in-person.”

“About that,” Cody says. Obi-Wan tilts his head at him. Cody hesitates a beat, then forges ahead. “Why did you believe me?”

“I’m sorry?”

“When I told you about the chips,” Cody says. “Before we confronted Palpatine. Why believe me?”

Obi-Wan’s silent for a long moment. “The bond, mostly,” he says at last. “Everything you told me, you believed without reservation. I trusted your judgment.”

“That was a hell of a gamble, sir.”

Kenobi smiles tiredly. “That, and I’ve had my suspicions about Palpatine for some time,” he says. There’s a note of regret to his words. “At first I thought perhaps it was just my distrust of politicians, but the longer the war went on, the longer he was in office, and the more power he amassed, the more convinced I became that there had to be something else behind it.”

“Because of the phantom menace?”

Obi-Wan quirks an eyebrow. “Yes,” he says. “Because of Sidious. The Council was aware of his existence, just not his identity. The dark side clouded our vision.”

It must have affected Kenobi’s vision less than the rest of them, Cody’s sure, since he was at least conscious enough to be wary. He doesn’t say it out loud, though; the whole thing is a tangled mess. Jedi. Sith. Light. Dark. Clouded. Clear.

 _Shabla_ Force.

The gunship touches down on the Temple landing platform. The doors clatter open. Kenobi steps out and glances over his shoulder. Cody tugs his helmet off and tucks it under his arm. “I’m coming with,” he says flatly. It’s not a question.

“It would be helpful to have you along.”

“Respectfully, General, I think I’d be of more use elsewhere.” The Council is not the Senate, but for the Jedi, it serves much the same purpose. He’s not built for politics, whether they’re Force-related or not.

Obi-Wan makes an apologetic face.

“I don’t have a choice, do I, sir?”

“They asked me to bring you, Cody,” Obi-Wan says, “since I presume that you have more knowledge of the preceding details than I do.”

Cody’s heart sinks.

“Yes, sir,” Cody says, and resigns himself to his fate.

The Temple is all but empty, silent and still. Kenobi tenses as soon as they step inside; his shoulders set back sharply. It’s an odd reaction for a man returning home from war. Cody expected, if nothing else, a faint breath of relief, but instead the bond is rife with conflict. The closer they get to what must be the Council chamber, the worse it gets.

“Wait,” Cody says, when they stop outside the grand entrance. Obi-Wan jolts like he’s been startled out of a trance.

“What is it?”

“We don’t have to tell them,” Cody hedges. “About me being Force-sensitive.”

“I see no reason that that information would be relevant,” Obi-Wan says gently, and Cody feels a rush of relief at his understanding.

For years, Cody told no one, not even Rex, too afraid of Kamino’s cold white halls and being forced to sleep and never waking up. Jedi or not, Kenobi or not, brother or not, he could never take the chance.

“I prefer it that way,” Cody says, and Obi-Wan squeezes his shoulder and smiles faintly.

“Of course,” Kenobi says, and leads the way inside.

What Council members that are not out cleaning up Coruscant are seated in a circle. The Coruscant sky is red behind them. “Master Kenobi. Commander,” Windu says, and gives them a solemn nod. Cody snaps to attention. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan says shortly. “Always happy to oblige.”

Windu raises one eyebrow elegantly. He steeples his hands in front of him. “You understand the need for an immediate explanation,” he says. “The Senate is in disarray.”

Obi-Wan takes a measured breath. “Of course,” he repeats. His tone is cool. The bond ripples with his frustration.

He doesn’t want to be here any more than Cody does.

The door swings open behind them. Cody doesn’t shift from the position of attention; he doesn’t need to. He’s long since learned what Anakin Skywalker feels like in the Force.

“Masters,” Skywalker says, and stops on the other side of Kenobi. He gives Cody a nod. “Commander.”

“Skywalker,” Windu says. “We did not request your presence.”

“I did,” Obi-Wan says.

Every eye in the chamber turns to Kenobi. “He deserves to know,” Obi-Wan says. “I will not speak without Anakin here.”

By the dead silence that befalls the room, Cody guesses this isn’t a move that Kenobi often pulls. “Very well, then, Master Kenobi,” Mundi says, and folds his arms across his chest. His hologram shimmers a lighter shade of blue.

Skywalker smiles. Some of the tension corded through his shoulders slips away. His hand presses to Kenobi’s shoulder, a silent show of strength and support, then falls back to his side.

Obi-Wan recounts the confrontation with the Chancellor, their journey to the _Resolute_ , and his exercise of battle meditation. A murmur runs through the chamber; there’s a washing wave of awe and unease and incredulity.

“General Grievous escaped,” Kenobi finishes. “But we have Dooku in custody.”

The Jedi are silent for a beat. Two. Three.

“You conducted battle meditation for the entire fleet,” Mundi says at last. “And for our men on the surface. That’s quite the feat, Master Kenobi. We have not witnessed a successful effort on that scale in many centuries.”

“I had some help,” Obi-Wan says evenly. It gets him a circle of confused stares. He doesn’t elaborate.

“Your trust in Commander Cody is commendable,” Windu says carefully. “But what evidence did you have besides his word?”

Kenobi stiffens. “We’ve all had our suspicions about the Chancellor,” he says. “Certainly that was reason enough.”

Yoda nods slowly. “Commander Cody,” he says. “To you, we now turn. Reveal to us your journey, you must.”

Cody suddenly wishes he had Rex and Echo and Fives and Fox beside him. The story is long and convoluted; ultimately, the only reason they knew Palpatine was a Sith was because he revealed it to Fives – and that was only because he intended for Fives to die.

“I can tell you some of it, sir,” Cody says. “But if you want the hard evidence, you’ll need to speak with ARC trooper Fives. He is the one responsible for having uncovered the chips in the first place.”

“Fives,” Windu says. He frowns and Cody sees in his eyes the same confusion that riddled Kenobi’s earlier.

Fives is supposed to be dead.

Cody keeps forgetting that.

“Yes, sir,” Cody says tiredly, and with a deep breath, begins.

* * *

If Rex had more hair, he would have pulled it all out by now.

As it is, by the time they’ve come up with what the Council deems a suitable explanation, Rex is ten seconds from scratching his scalp bald.

The evidence is all in Kenobi’s hands now: Kix’s data chip, a Sith holocron, and a drive containing classified Separatist intel that Fives eventually admitted he’d stolen from Raxus. How he even made it in and out of the Separatist capital without getting killed is not something Rex had the energy to ask. Kenobi must have felt the same; he just quirked a brow and told them that, with any luck, they wouldn’t have to worry about the investigation any more.

Rex hopes he’s right. If a _shabla_ recording of Palpatine confessing his master plan to commit genocide via millions of unwilling proxies isn’t enough to convince the Senate, nothing will be.

“Hey.”

“General Skywalker,” Rex says, and glances up. The barracks on Coruscant’s surface are cramped and uncomfortable, but with the _Resolute_ under repair in orbit, there aren’t many alternatives. At this hour, most of the men are asleep. He’d assumed Skywalker would be too.

Anakin flashes him a tired smile. “I thought I might find you out here,” he says, easing down onto the ground beside Rex and propping his back against the barracks wall.

The silence should be comfortable; it’s strained instead. This conversation has been a long time coming. _It’s not that I don’t trust you. I do. It’s just that this is something I’m not sure how to tell you yet_.

“I’m sorry, General,” Rex says suddenly. “I wanted to tell you.”

Anakin sighs. In the ambient glow of the Coruscant night, he looks exhausted, not invulnerable. “Why didn’t you?”

Rex hesitates for a beat. His breath catches in his throat. “I didn’t think you’d believe me,” he admits.

“I don’t blame you.”

“Sir?”

Anakin pulls his knees to his chest and props his arms over them. “After what happened with Fives,” he says. His voice cracks on Fives’ name. He clears his throat, then shakes his head ruefully. “I can’t blame you for not telling me, Rex.”

“I didn’t blame you.”

Skywalker turns to look at him. “For Fives,” Rex says. “I never blamed you.”

Anakin swallows hard.

“The Chancellor,” Rex says carefully. “We assumed that he kept people close to him because they were important to his plan. He did it to Fox – and he did it to you.”

It doesn’t seem to ease Anakin’s mind. He’s tense, coiled. His hands clench and unclench. “I was so close to never coming back,” he whispers, a breath like fear. “I came _this_ _close_ to crossing that line.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Rex says immediately.

Skywalker shrugs uneasily. Rex knows he’s thinking of Tano, turning her back on the Order and everything she’d ever known because of the Council’s mistake, of Senator Amidala, raising her voice in the Senate only to have it drowned out by war profiteers, of all the men that died screaming on Umbara because of Krell. Anakin is one of the most powerful Jedi in the Order’s history. Rex can’t imagine how tempting it must be to use that power to seize the control he so desperately craves: to break the nightmares and beat death to its grave.

But Skywalker is stronger than that.

“You wouldn’t have,” Rex repeats.

“I appreciate that, Rex,” Anakin says. His voice is soft; he’s staring at the sky like he can see the stars through Coruscant’s lights. He rests an arm around Rex’s shoulders and squeezes, once. “More than you know.”

Rex leaves the easy hold alone. It’s colder than he thought it would be, he needs to stop going outside in just his blacks, and after all the chaos and upheaval and could-have-beens, it’s a comfort to have Skywalker safe and close.

“So,” Anakin says, and blows out a breath. “Cody.”

Cody. Rex sighs.

“He didn’t tell you.”

“More than that,” Rex says dryly. “He lied to my face.”

Skywalker winces. “I’m sure he had a good reason.”

He was afraid. Of course he was afraid. “He did,” Rex says evenly, and that’s all. Skywalker doesn’t press – and he doesn’t ask about Fives having Force powers too. Rex realizes he must not know about that either, and for a brief and fleeting moment, he misses the blaster bolts that were flying at his head earlier.

‘Stay alive and blow through the enemy lines’ was a simple enough directive.

“What happens now?” Rex asks.

“Well, the cleanup is underway and we have an explanation for Padmé to give to the Senate, so the Council is finally willing to hear Ahsoka out,” Anakin says. “I’m actually on my way to the Temple to find out what’s going on.”

Rex cringes. Tano’s been waiting hours to say her piece and while he hasn’t had the chance to see her for more than a passing moment, Rex couldn’t fail to note the fire burning in her eyes. Something’s got her on edge.

“What do you think it is?” Rex asks.

Skywalker’s brow furrows. “I don’t know,” he says. His eyes are dark and faraway. He takes a deep breath, then pats Rex on the back and gets to his feet.

Rex follows him. “Good luck, sir,” Rex says, and holds out a hand. Skywalker clasps his wrist and holds.

“Get some sleep, Rex,” Anakin says. “I have a feeling you’re gonna need it.”

The barracks is dark and quiet when Rex steps back inside. The temperature in here isn’t much higher than the air outside, but the halls seem to hum with warmth.

For the moment, at least, Torrent Company is safe and alive.

Cramped quarters means they’re all crammed together. Rex slips into the room to which he assigned himself and the rest of the ARCs.

Fives leans over the edge of the top bunk when Rex steps through the door. “Can’t sleep?” Rex asks softly, and Fives shrugs and swings to dangle his feet over the side.

“Echo’s on the _Havoc Marauder_ ,” Fives mutters. His face doesn’t quite twist into a scowl, but it’s close.

“He’s been with Ninety-Nine for the last couple months,” Rex says gently, and scales the bunk ladder. Fives scoots over to give Rex space to sit beside him. “He probably feels more at home there.”

“That’s what he said,” Fives grumbles. “And I get it. I do. I just...”

He shrugs.

Rex puts an arm around him and squeezes tightly. Fives drops his head to Rex’s shoulder. It takes Rex a beat to notice the way his breath shakes.

“It’s okay,” Rex says, and cards his fingers through his hair. Fives presses his eyes shut. A tremble runs through his frame. “It’s okay, Fives. I’m here.”

“Missed you,” Fives mumbles, and wraps his arms around him and buries his face in his chest. Rex rests a hand on the back of his neck and holds him close. His throat is tight. Fives is here. Fives is alive.

“I missed you too, _vod’ika_ ,” Rex whispers, and bows his head. “I missed you too.”

\--


	20. The other side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't recover until you start. For Fox, that's the hardest part.
> 
> Ahsoka asked for help. She'll get her answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story began when I started watching the final season of The Clone Wars. It seems only fitting that it should end in time with the season finale on May the Fourth.
> 
> One final time: thank you all so much for reading and for your kind words! <3

“Stay down.”

“I’m not dying, Wolffe,” Fox grumbles, but settles back into the pillows nonetheless. He doesn’t need all five that are tucked around him, of course; Rys, Jek, and Thire must have gotten into one of the medical cabinets and pilfered it for extra supplies to prop him up on while he was asleep.

Wolffe rolls his eyes and eases himself onto the chair Thire never bothered to put back in the corner. It takes Fox an embarrassingly long moment to realize that Wolffe didn’t make his way down to the Guard’s medical bay alone. Rex and Fives are with him.

“Why are you all here in the middle of the night?” Fox asks.

“We came to check up on you,” Fives says, flashing an easy grin. “You look like hell.”

“In the middle of the night,” Fox repeats.

“We might be shipping out again soon,” Rex says, and Wolffe nods agreeably. “Just thought we’d drop by and make sure you were all right.”

“I’m fine,” Fox says.

Fives’ grin falters. “Wolffe told us,” he says haltingly. “About what they did to you.”

Fox’s stomach turns uneasily. His hands wind together; his fingernails drive into his knuckles. “It’s over now,” he says at last, and tries for a smile. It feels harder than it should. Wolffe gently pries his hands apart and clasps one between both of his own.

The silence isn’t awkward, but it goes on for long enough that Rex shifts from foot to foot and Fives blows out a long breath. “Right,” Rex says. “There is one more thing.”

Fox frowns.

“We found him,” Wolffe says. “We found Exon.”

He didn’t know Exon was missing. He should have known Exon was missing. Fox’s heart lurches violently. “You found Exon,” he echoes, and strains to remember the last time he saw him.

Wolffe must see the panicked confusion in his eyes. “It’s all right,” he murmurs, and Fox tries to nod and believe it. Wolffe squeezes his hand tightly. “That’s not your fault.”

“Where is he?”

Rex nods at the door. Cody steps through. His arm is wrapped around Exon’s shoulders. There’s a tired, haunted light in Exon’s eyes. His hair is longer, loose and disheveled. He crosses the room to sit on the bed at Fox’s side.

For a moment, it’s silent.

“Cody told me they sorted out your headaches,” Exon says, and toys with the blanket. “That’s – that’s good.”

Headaches. Fox’s breath stops in his throat. “They told you everything?”

Exon’s eyes look wider than Fox thinks they should. “After they pulled me out of the basement of the Grand Republic Medical Facility, yeah,” he says, and snorts. “Some ‘transfer.’ They kept asking me about the chips.”

It’s been eating at him since Jek quietly handed him a datapad and told him that the Fives reports would help explain everything. “The chips,” Fox says and looks to Cody and Rex and Fives.

“Yeah,” Fives says. “Yours malfunctioned.”

The report said he removed it. Fox hesitates. “Was there something wrong with mine?”

Exon pats his shoulder. “It was faulty,” he says. “I was going through the data and talking to Fives before Commander Cody brought me to see you. The chip’s programming wasn’t transmitting the activation sequence completely correctly, so your – unorthodox counter was enough to interrupt what it was able to send.”

That old familiar cold; the chips and their control: it comes to him in a rush. All at once, he doesn’t have the courage to ask what would have happened if he hadn’t managed the counter. Maybe they would have kept sending the activation key until it finally clicked and he would have lost his mind forever.

Fox shudders. Wolffe squeezes his hand again. Cody opens his mouth to say something, but the buzz of his comm cuts him off. He steps outside. Fox doesn’t ask what it could be about. He’s sure he already knows.

Shipping out again soon, Rex said.

It only takes Cody a moment to return. His face is grim. “That was General Kenobi,” he says. “We have to go.”

Fox feels a pang of wistful longing. He remembers the field and the grass and the stupid open sky he’ll never see. His chest aches.

He’s said too many goodbyes.

“Stay down,” Wolffe says. Fox pushes himself upright anyway. Wolffe takes his face between his hands and presses their foreheads together.

“ _Jate’kara, vod_ ,” Fox murmurs. “Be careful.”

Wolffe lets go. For all the exhaustion in his eyes, he still manages to look amused. “That’s really funny,” he says, “coming from you.”

“I wasn’t that bad.”

“You jumped out of a building, Fox,” Wolffe says dryly. “It was that bad.”

Rex and Cody take hold of Fox’s shoulders and return his nod. It’s Fives that hovers after the others have stepped into the hall.

“I’m sorry,” Fives says. There’s guilt in his eyes. “About what they did to you.”

“I don’t remember most of it,” Fox says mildly.

Fives doesn’t even twitch.

Fox gives him a lopsided smile. “I did shoot you,” he points out. “So fair’s fair.”

Fives does laugh at that. It’s disbelieving and broken, but it soothes some of the tension coiled in Fox’s chest. “You did,” Fives says, and blinks quickly. His grin wobbles before he steadies it. “Why’d you turn the stun up so high? You blew a hole in my armor, Fox.”

Not in his right mind. Barely able to think. Barely remembering to breathe. Set to kill. Switch it back. Fire, fire. “I wanted it to be convincing,” Fox says, and shakes off the ghosts. “And I didn’t think it would shock you so hard it stopped your heart.”

There’s a sheen to Fives’ eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

“Nothing to forgive, _vod_.”

Fives holds out his arm. Fox grasps it. “Stay alive,” Fox says.

“You too.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Fox says, and jerks his head toward Exon. “He won’t let me die.”

Fives holds for a moment longer, then pulls away. Once he turns, he doesn’t look back.

The door hisses closed.

“They’ll be all right,” Exon says quietly. “Right now, your only concern should be recovering.”

“There is still a war going on, Exon.”

“You’re not going to be able to fight anyone in this condition,” Exon says. Despite the dark circles driven beneath his eyes, he still manages a note of convincing sternness. “Rest and heal.”

It’s good advice: for both of them. Fox ruffles Exon’s hair so it falls over his eyes in dark waves. Exon scowls. “You need a haircut,” Fox says. “It’s just a little longer than regulation.”

Exon snorts. “My hair was the least of my concerns,” he says, and stops abruptly. Fox reaches out and tucks his hair behind his ears.

“When you’re ready to talk,” Fox says quietly, “I’m here, _vod_.”

Exon blinks twice. “I know,” he says, and clears his throat harshly. “I know.”

Fox wraps his arms around him. Exon leans into the hold. “It’s okay,” Fox says, and lets him shudder through the sobs. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe.”

* * *

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Echo says. “I got the same message you did: report to the north landing platform.”

Fives falls in stride with Echo at double time. The _Resolute_ isn’t fit for another full-scale space battle, but it’ll fly, and apparently, that’s all they need it to do. A shuttle stands ready to take them back to the star destroyer. Skywalker is supposed to be waiting for them in the shuttle’s cockpit.

Ventress and Tano are already at the ramp when they arrive. Tano glances over and gives them a smile. Its warmth is sincere; it’s just offset by the stressed set of her spine and the tension in her eyes. Fives almost asks her what’s wrong, then bites it back.

It has to be the mission.

“Ventress,” Fives says instead. She tugs off her helmet and tucks it under her arm. It’s a swift movement, but it’s done with reverent care.

“Fives,” she says evenly.

Fives waves a hand at the shuttle. The engines are just beginning to hum to life. “Joining us on this one?”

She snorts. “No,” Ventress says. “I think I’ve more than done my part.”

Fives shrugs, conscious of Echo’s stiffness at his side; he doesn’t need the Force or the bond or whatever the hell it is to know that he doesn’t like her being here. “We can always use the help.”

She arches one eyebrow elegantly. “You have Skywalker, Tano, and Kenobi,” she says. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“And you’ll have your pardon.”

“I have assurances that my ‘considerable actions’ will be ‘accordingly weighed.’” She crooks her fingers and scoffs. Fives imagines she’s not waiting with bated breath.

“What about your bounty?”

“What?”

“The one Serrano took on Skako Minor,” Fives says dryly. “The chip with the algorithm. Still planning on stealing it and turning it over to the Separatists?”

Echo’s shoulders snap back. His hands press to the pistols still tucked into their holsters. “Echo, hey,” Fives says, over the chaos flooding the back of his mind; it’s not his terror: it’s Echo’s. “It’s okay. What’s going on?”

“Skako Minor,” Echo says. His voice bleeds quiet rage.

“Yeah,” Fives says. “She was looking for a chip with an algorithm the Techno Union…lost.”

“You were never going to help me with that,” Ventress says calmly.

Obviously not. He doesn’t have the time or presence of mind to answer her. Fives takes hold of Echo’s shoulders. “Talk to me,” he says. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s not a chip,” Echo snarls. “It’s _me_.”

The implants in his skull. The metal curve of his spine. Fury wells in Fives’ chest. His head snaps around. Ventress holds up her hands placatingly. “I didn’t know it was a person,” she says, and some of the white hot wrath slips away. “I was only pursuing the chip to keep the Separatists from having it.”

“Why?” It’s not a question to which she owes him an answer, and she seems to know it. Ventress studies him for a moment, then grasps her helmet in both hands and spins it so she’s staring into the visor. Fives remembers Dooku on the command cruiser – _That mask cannot change who you are_ , remembers Revan, who lost herself and found her darkness and chose the light.

_Do we call that redemption?_

“Because we are who we make ourselves,” Ventress says, and lowers the helmet over her head. “Good luck, Fives.”

“Ventress.”

She stops a few paces away but doesn’t turn to face him. “Thank you,” Fives says. “For helping us.”

“Like I said,” she says. “I didn’t do it for you.”

Then she’s gone.

“You okay?” Fives asks, and Echo finally relaxes. He blows out one steady breath, two, and shrugs out of Fives’ hold.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Echo says. There’s a defensive edge to his voice. “We need to get moving. The engines are powering on.”

The others are already strapped in. Fives drops down across from Dogma. “What’s wrong with you?” Fives asks, with a glance at the white-knuckled hold he has on the seat grip.

“He hates flying,” Jesse supplies, and nudges Dogma. “Hey, relax. This one should be smooth sailing.”

“With Anakin, is it ever?” Kenobi calls from the cockpit. “Certainly Dogma’s fears are well-founded.”

Rex coughs in a terrible attempt to conceal his laugh.

“Funny,” Skywalker says. “I guess committing high treason has done wonders for your sense of humor, Obi-Wan.”

The shuttle lifts. Dogma presses himself back into his seat. He’s muttering something to himself and hasn’t muted his helmet comm. It’s a mantra of some kind. Jesse squeezes his wrist.

“It’s good to have you on board, Commander Tano,” Cody says.

“I’m not a commander anymore,” Ahsoka says. Fives wonders if the note of regret in her voice is just his imagination: wistful thinking. He remembers Rex sitting his platoon leaders down and telling them to disseminate the news. There hadn’t been much of a way to spin it positively: the Council made a terrible mistake, the Order lost its most promising padawan, and the 501st, through no fault of their own, suddenly found themselves short their only sister.

Some part of Fives hopes that this time, she stays.

“If you say so, Commander,” Rex chimes in. There’s a warmth to his voice that Fives hasn’t heard in a long time.

Ahsoka’s mouth curves into a smile. It’s less strained than the one she gave them on the landing platform. Kenobi and Skywalker and bickering in the cockpit. Echo’s safe and at his side.

For a while, it feels like old times.

The peace lasts only as long as the ride to the _Resolute_. The second they touch down, Tano’s face shutters. She strides off the shuttle and takes a direct line to the only non-Republic craft in the hanger.

It’s the Mandalorian ship that dropped her down to them during the invasion. The ramp snaps to the ground and three Mandalorians stride out. The first, the leader, stops at the bottom of the ramp right as Ahsoka reaches them. She and Ahsoka clasp one another’s forearms firmly, then release.

“Lady Bo-Katan,” Ahsoka says. “Welcome to the _Resolute_.”

“What did they say?” Bo-Katan asks. No time for pleasantries, then. Ahsoka snaps off a short nod and glances over her shoulder.

“They’re…undecided,” Ahsoka says. “They want to discuss it in more depth.”

“What is there to discuss?” Bo-Katan demands. “Maul is on Mandalore. Do they want to capture him or not?”

“Might I suggest we conduct this conversation elsewhere?” Kenobi asks. “The men will be loading supplies shortly. We don’t want to be in their way.”

Fives wonders how much of that is the truth and how much of it is done in the interest of trying to let cooler heads prevail. Regardless, he falls in step behind the Generals.

“Maul again, huh?” Jesse says over the helmet comm. “Nice.”

“Quiet,” Cody bites out. “Now’s not the time for chatter.”

The last time Kenobi faced off against Maul, he almost died.

The _Resolute’s_ bridge is exactly the same way Fives remembers it: he spent hours here, poring over the tactical maps with Rex and Echo, planning the formations for their assaults. He stops to the side with the other ARCs. Another figure darts in just before the door closes.

“Are you cleared, Kix?” Rex asks coolly.

“What’s going on?” Kix asks, instead of answering. “There’re a lot of rumors about Mandalore.”

“They’re figuring it out now,” Echo supplies.

Bo-Katan slams her fist into the holotable. “We don’t have time to wait for the Council,” she snaps. “Mandalore is _burning_ , Kenobi.”

“If you can call that ‘figuring it out,’ yeah,” Fives says, “they’re figuring it out.”

“Quiet,” Cody says. Fives glances at him. Every muscle in his body is taut. As composed as he might think he looks, Kenobi’s posture mirrors Cody’s. For a second, Fives wonders at the connection.

“We cannot interfere without the proper sanctions,” Obi-Wan says carefully. “The Mandalorian treaties are hundreds of years old. Any unauthorized action on our part would break them. We’re still in the middle of our own war. We cannot afford to start a second.”

“If it was Satine,” Bo-Katan hisses, and stabs an accusing finger at Kenobi. “If it was Satine standing here – what would your answer be?”

Kenobi’s face falls. Deep grief roils around him in dark waves. “I would have to refuse,” he says. His voice is soft. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your apologies,” Bo-Katan says. “I want you to prove that she meant something to you.”

Kenobi flinches. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

Bo-Katan’s rage is a red wake. The door hisses shut behind her.

“That went well,” Anakin mutters. Ahsoka stiffens. Kenobi presses a hand over his mouth.

“What is it?” Anakin asks. Kenobi doesn’t move. “Obi-Wan?”

Kenobi starts, then grimaces. “I will consult the Council – again,” he says, and disappears after Bo-Katan.

“That went terribly,” Jesse grumbles.

“ _Quiet_ ,” Cody snarls.

Skywalker and Tano move to a corner to speak quietly. By their body language and what tones of voice Fives can make out, it doesn’t sound like it’s a friendly discussion. He’s tempted to comment on it, but Cody’s wound so tightly he’s not sure it would be worth it. Nothing’s going to come of their speculation at this point anyway.

They can only wait.

Kenobi returns sooner than Fives expects him to. Beside Rex, Cody’s hand curls into a fist.

“Let me guess,” Anakin says. “They said no again.”

Kenobi takes a slow breath. “The Council believes that capturing Grievous should be our central priority,” he says. “With Palpatine’s death, the Senate is still in disarray and scrambling to select an interim Chancellor. Neither they nor the Council will authorize a siege.”

He pauses. “But?” Anakin prompts.

Obi-Wan takes a measured breath, bows his head, and presses his hands to the holotable. For a moment, he’s motionless. Cody’s breathing evens; his shoulders relax. There’s a sudden swell of strength, singing steel and lightning blaze. Fives hears it like the echo of a distant cry.

 _I’m here. I’ll stand with you_. _You’re not alone._

“Master Obi-Wan?” Ahsoka asks gently.

“They will not authorize it,” Obi-Wan says, and seems to gather himself. When he straightens to meet her eyes, his gaze glints the same steel. “But I will.”

Anakin’s surprise is palpable, but he doesn’t argue. “Then let’s get moving,” he says, and motions to them. “Rex, you and your men are with me. Let’s go.”

Fives races after them. The _Resolute’s_ alarms are on in full force; the halls are bathed in burning crimson light. The hangar is controlled chaos; crews are loading their gear onto gunships. Tano’s suddenly with them, helping them carry crates of ammunition and jetpacks onto their assigned craft while Skywalker briefs them on the plan and Rex relays it to his squad leaders.

“Really glad to have you back, Commander,” Fives says. Ahsoka pauses a moment and rests a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m glad to see you alive, Fives,” she says. Her smile is bright. This time, there’s no tension at all. “I’m honored to be fighting at your side.”

Fives holds out his arm. Ahsoka clasps it tightly. “Likewise, Commander,” Fives says. “Likewise.”

The gunship ride down is in silence.

Well, mostly silence.

“Can’t believe we finally get to use jetpacks,” Echo says.

“If you fly anything like you drive, I want you to stay far away from me,” Fives says, and shoves him. Echo grips the back of his neck and pulls him forward to knock their helmets together.

“I’ll race you to the surface,” Echo says, and lets go.

“You’ve got a deal, _Ey’ika_.”

Rex chuckles. “Stay focused,” he says, but there’s no bite to his words.

“I’ll race all of you,” Ahsoka says calmly. The pilot’s calling out their approach vector, a dim buzz on the comm. Fives takes a deep breath. Adrenaline lights a familiar flame in his veins. Echo’s a soothing cool in the back of his mind.

“One problem,” Rex says suddenly. The gunship lurches. Ahsoka tilts her head at him. “I didn’t bring you a jetpack.”

“Rex,” she admonishes. That wide grin is back. The doors clatter open. “I don’t need one.”

She launches herself into the freefall. One by one, the others follow her. Fives claps Echo on the shoulder a final time. The wind is a rush. The sky is on fire.

“See you on the other side,” Fives says, and lets himself fly.

\--


End file.
